Written in Blood
by Shadows in the Light of Day
Summary: They say the world ended, and that when it ended the nation of Panem was born. But in truth, she had been born long before her rise to power, and as her power grew, so did her urge to destroy the old nations, now robbed of their immortality. Some died quickly, but this is the story of those who fought for their right to survive. This is the story of the end of the world.
1. Detonation

**Um... Hello, everyone. Shadow here! (Starting a new fanfic/series is so awkward...)**

**Anyways, welcome, everyone, to my newest fanfiction, "Written in Blood". I know I shouldn't be starting this now, since I've just started working on the last "Soviet Insanity" fic, but since I get the feeling that this fic is going to take me absolute ages to write, I may as well get started, right?**

**For those who have read my "Hetalia Drabbles" fanfiction, yes, this is the full story that was referenced in drabbles one and five. However, those would have been from possible sequels to this, and as such, contain heavy spoilers. I will not be taking those drabbles down, but for those who do not want spoilers, I would steer clear of those stories in order to avoid finding out what will happen.**

**Basically, this story is exactly what it looks like. The "Hetalia" characters are attempting to survive, while the personification of Panem is attempting to kill them. As I said, the drabbles that people apparently liked were from sequel ideas, and therefore, this will be a slightly different premise than those stories. **

**Now, then, a bit (more) of an explanation. This being a crossover with "The Hunger Games", there are going to be some slight differences from my usual fics. In particular, I will not be focusing only on my personal favorite characters (the Baltics, Russia, and Belarus), but on as many nations as I can fit in and can reasonably keep track of.**

**Although this isn't your typical "Hunger Games"/"Hetalia" fanfiction, there will still be a good deal of character death. Also, there will be some rather in depth torture scenes later on. Therefore, it's rated T for a number of reasons, but, in short, it's rated T mostly for violence.**

**There will be two main parts to this story, and the first will focus on nations who may or may not have a continuing story in the second, while some nations may not appear at all until the second part. Therefore, if some nations are not shown immediately, there is a chance they will appear later. **

**If you have any suggestions for this story, please tell me. :) I may not follow your suggestions, but the speculations of readers feed my brain. **

**Also, accents. I am terrible at writing accents, particularly French and German, so if anyone has any tips on writing accents, PLEASE tell me! **

**This chapter and the next will be largely introductory chapters, introducing the majority of the major characters of this part. :) However, this chapter only features four of the victims... I mean, heroes! But in the next chapter, the rest of the group will appear. **

* * *

Chapter One: Detonation

When the boy woke up, he didn't immediately remember that the whole world had crashed down on him. He didn't realize what had happened…he only knew he was in pain.

America could feel that his legs were stuck under something… He just didn't know what. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, for fear of what he might find outside the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

_"What…happened…? Where…where am I?"_

He raised his head, and, opening his eyes, tried to see if he recognized his surroundings. To his surprise, all he saw was a ruined building…and a small figure crouching next to him, apparently trying to clear the rubble from his half-buried form.

"Eng… England…?" America asked, "What…what are you doing?"

The older nation jumped, then adopted an expression that was both annoyed and relieved all at once.

"Oh, it's you," England said, "I thought you were Canada."

"Amazing occurrence number one-you remembered Canada's existence," America said, attempting to make a joke despite the obviously rather bleak and quite confusing circumstances, "And at the best time for you, too."

"You think you're awfully intelligent," England muttered, "Let me just remind you which one of us is buried up to his waist in rubble."

"Yeah…" America mumbled, "How'd I get here, anyways?"

"You don't remember?" England said grimly, "You don't remember what happened to the World Meeting because of your little…sister?"

_"Oh…that's right…" _America thought, _"Panem."_

He had found her years ago, sitting in his house, playing around with his stuff. And, despite the fact that she had appeared on his land, there was something about her that made it very obvious that she was like him, like Canada and England and the rest. A nation, just like them. So, he decided to be her big brother. He had never been a big brother before.

Her name was Panem… But, despite the fact that she appeared to be a personified nation, she didn't have any land at all… At first, that is.

He should have seen it coming-she was right in the middle of his place when he found her-but he hadn't even thought about it. He hadn't even considered the possibility of her turning against him.

_Things had escalated strangely. They hadn't realized it at first, hadn't even connected the gradual change to Panem. The continents, changing shape. Some nations disappearing altogether under the waves, the scattered remnant of their citizens trying to escape what had befallen their homes. Somehow, even America was affected, although, almost as if to back up his assertion of his invincibility, he still had some land left, and it was to that remaining territory that most of the remaining people fled. _

_But then, what remained became a singular nation, and then, they realized what had happened. Panem, the child America had raised, was the personification of this single remaining nation. She was the nation that remained after what seemed to be the end of the world. _

_The others hadn't died. So, apparently, you didn't always die just because your country was dissolved. If they hadn't already known that from Prussia's example, they knew for certain now. _

_So, even though they weren't technically countries anymore, even though there was barely even a world anymore, someone had called a World Meeting. The only goal was to ask Panem to explain what was going to happen now-if she even knew. Sometimes you didn't know what your boss was planning, after all, so Panem might not know anything at all._

_But some of them-like England and Germany-thought that Panem knew a great deal more than she had let on, and that getting all of the former nations together at the conference was the worst idea possible. As far as America knew, Italy had been the one to convince Germany to come, and he himself has enlisted France to drag England to the meeting-literally drag, if necessary._

_It was once they were all there that things started to escalate. Panem had been there long before most of the others, and, once she took the stage, everything went quiet. Even France and England stopped their perpetual quarreling, and everything was suddenly very, very quiet. _

_America, who was sitting between a very annoyed England and a very quiet Canada, was barely listening as Panem spoke… For the first few seconds, that is. Then, the shouting began. _

_"What did she say?" America whispered to Canada, since England was busy yelling threats in Panem's direction._

_"She said… She said that since we're no longer nations, our existence is no longer necessary," Canada whispered back, his indigo eyes wide, "She said… She said that we can die now._

_"That's enough!" yelled someone-probably Germany, "I want to hear the rest!"_

_As Panem resumed her speech, America was, for once, listening intently. He was horrified by what he was hearing. This girl… The child _he_ had raised… She wanted to kill them all, because she deemed them no longer useful? She thought of them as a threat, and not as her friends? _

_His shock must have shown on his face, because he could see several of the other nations-Lithuania, Canada, and, to his surprise, England and China-staring at him sympathetically. _

_"Vhat is zhis going to prove?" Austria interrupted the girl, "Vhat harm has any of us done to you, zat you vould vant to kill us?"_

_"It's not that you've done me harm," Panem said, "I simply don't see the usefulness of allowing your worthless lives to continue. If anything, you'll only cause confusion and dissension among my people. Therefore, I'll do you the favor of ending your miserable lives. Don't worry; you'll probably die quickly. Probably."_

_There was no response, but several countries exchanged worried glances. A few of the more nervous ones looked like they might be about to bolt for the door._

_"Well," Panem said, "Since I'm the only official country here, I'm ending the meeting. So, enjoy the rest of your lives. By the way, this building is going to explode."_

_"Excuse me?" England shouted, "What did you just say?"_

_"This building is going to explode," Panem said, "So, I'll be leaving before it does."_

_And, with that, the girl strode out of the room, leaving the other nations completely confused._

_Silence reigned for a moment…then, suddenly, there was a clattering noise as Romano sprang up, his chair falling to the floor._

_"She said it's going to explode!" the Italian yelled, "Why are we still sitting here?!"_

_"I just thought she was joking…" Italy mumbled, "Is it going to explode, Germany?"_

_"Ask America!" England yelled, "The bloody idiot raised her, didn't he?"_

_All eyes in the room instantly focused on America, who suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable._

_"I dunno…" he mumbled, "I don't think she would…"_

_"Well, I am not waiting around to get exploded by some insane girl!" Romano yelled, "I'll be back later, if there's anything still here."_

_The dark-haired Italian turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him._

_"Hey, Romano, come back!" Spain called. When there was no response, the other nation stood up and strode over to the door._

_"I'll go get him," he said, smiling, "Be back soon."_

_Italy shifted uneasily in his chair. _

_"Germany…maybe we should go outside too… Just for a few minutes? Please?"_

_"All right, _Italien_," Germany said, "I don't trust Panem, and I honestly don't understand vhy ve haven't all left already."_

_"Because ve are more awesome than you, obviously," Prussia said with a laugh, "Zere's nothing to be scared of, West."_

_Germany ignored this comment, instead turning toward the door, along with Italy._

_ "Do you think it would be best for us all to go?" Canada whispered to America, "Just in case she's telling the truth…"_

_"She's not telling the truth, silly…" America said with an uneasy laugh, "She's just… Joking."_

"Then what happened?" America asked, "I don't…I don't really remember…"

"The other end of the building blew first," England said grimly, "It gave some of us time to get out or take cover. I don't know who made it out and who didn't…but I had to come back and see if I could find anyone."

"Do you…do you think they're okay?" America asked.

England sighed.

"I found Ukraine and Finland…both dead. So, Panem was telling the truth when she said we were no longer immortal. We're vulnerable now. She'll be back, I'm certain, so we'd best check for other survivors and then get out of here."

"R-right," America said, "Uh… Can you help me? My legs are still kind of…"

"Oh, right," England said, "They're mostly uncovered now-I was working while you thought over the situation. Can you move them?"

"Yeah…" America said, "They hurt, though."

"I'd imagine so," England said dryly. "Now, come along. We haven't got much time."

America looked down at his legs. They looked intact, if a little battered. He stood up carefully, but, despite all his efforts to be careful, he tripped and fell forward, nearly smashing his face against the rubble before someone grabbed his arm, stopping him from falling.

"That would have been a rather nasty accident," England said, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, of course I'm all right," America said, "I'm the hero, after all! Let's go find the others."

England sighed, then pulled America to his feet.

"Indeed," he said, "As I pointed out earlier, Panem will be back to look for survivors, so we had best move quickly."

America nodded, then began scanning the ruins for any signs of life.

"I've checked this end already," England said, "You made it halfway outside before the hallway blew."

"Then we go back to the conference room?" America asked.

England nodded.

The two nations moved fairly quickly through the ruins, looking for signs of life, but not finding any. Finally, they reached all that was left of the conference room. Amazingly, the table in the center of the room was still intact, but everything else was in ruins.

America glanced around the room, surprised at the lack of bodies there.

"Everyone had time to get at least a little ways away before it happened," England said, "If this end of the building had gone up first, then there would be a much larger amount of bodies here."

"Yeah…" America said, "I wonder if anyone else got out."

"I'm sure most of them are fine," England said, "After all, at least four of them were already outside when the explosion started."

_"Right," _America thought, _"So where did Germany, Italy, Spain, and Romano go?"_

Suddenly, the blonde American heard a small whimper coming from the direction of the table. He frowned.

_"Did I imagine that, or…?"_

America stepped cautiously toward the table, ignoring England, who was staring at him in confusion. Bending down to peer under the table, he saw the last thing he had expected, but, also, the thing he had most hoped to find. Canada was curled up under the table, both arms hugging his shoulders in what was probably an attempt to comfort himself. The other nation's eyes were closed, but he had no wounds to speak of, and his steady breathing assured America that he was alive. France sat next to him, leaning against one of the table legs.

"Hey, guys?" America said softly, "You okay?"

Canada squeaked in fright, then sat up quickly, banging his head on the table. France, however, appeared unconcerned.

"Ah… America, is that you?" the blonde man asked.

"Yeah, it's me," America said, "What are you guys doing under there?"

"We hid under here when the building started to collapse," Canada said quietly, "I didn't think we could get out, so we thought maybe the table…"

"Well, that table probably saved you both," England said from behind America, "Ordinarily, I'd be a bit annoyed to find you unscathed, France… But these are far from normal circumstances."

"Why would she do that?" Canada asked, crawling out from under the table.

"Why did she do any of this?" England returned angrily, "I don't bloody well know! Ask America!"

"It's not like I know," America said, "I mean… I can't read her mind or anything."

"We should have seen this coming," England said, "She had no land of her own at all, so of course…"

"We can't do anything about it now," France said. By now, the older blonde was on his feet.

"They might be back to check for survivors," France continued, "So we should probably go."

England looked as if he wanted to protest, but then he nodded.

"There are at least two confirmed deaths," he said quietly, "Do you think the others…?"

"'Do you zink?' is not going to save us from that monster of a girl, _l'Angleterre._" France said.

"Hey!" America snapped, "Don't call her a monster!"

"You don't believe she really caused this, do you?" England asked, sighing. "You fool."

"Well, duh!" America retorted, "I mean, when is anything ever the personification's fault?"

"When zey try to kill every nation in existence in cold blood," said France, "Zen it is ze personification's fault."

* * *

**Italien (German)- Italy**

**l'Angleterre (French)- England**

**I apologize for the length of these author's notes... I tend to ramble quite a bit, and I feel that I still haven't properly explained this story. However, I can't seem to explain properly, so I'm not going to try any further, for now. **

**I will say this: Do not expect extremely regular updates on this. I will update when I have inspiration to write, and most likely that will be every couple of weeks. The same goes for the final "Soviet Insanity" fic. They will both be updated in time, when I am in the correct mood to work on them.**

**However, reviews boost my fragile confidence, and may convince me that this story is worth writing a lot of at a time. :) **

**Shadow, signing out! **


	2. Collapse

**Well, this proves that I fail at updating on any kind of schedule. xD Anyways, thank you for reviewing, Krasavitsa and B-the-Geek! :)**

**And thanks to everyone who has followed this story, as well. :)**

**This chapter will introduce the remainder of the main cast for this part. Other nations will appear briefly later on in this part, and others will not appear until the second part. So just because you don't see a character here doesn't mean they won't appear later.**

**The first part of this chapter is a flashback, and thus is italicized. :)**

* * *

Chapter Two: Collapse

_It was utter chaos when the meeting room exploded. In the confusion, some nations vanished under the rubble, while others barely managed to escape. In retrospect, perhaps the ones who died were the lucky ones._

_When the first bomb went off-Russia assumed it was a bomb, he hadn't seen it-the ones closest to it were buried completely. The Nordics had been at that end of the room, as had several other nations that Russia barely registered the existence of. There were simply too many nations in the world to keep track of all of them. _

_Russia had been at the other end of the room, and when the bomb went off, he suddenly woke up from whatever fantasy he had been in. He couldn't remember afterwards what he had been thinking about, although he suspected that it had been something to do with the fact that a tiny little girl like Panem achieving world domination was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard._

_However, ludicrous things become extremely believable when you see people you have known for most of your life get buried under falling rock. _

_Russia glanced around the crumbling room, trying to locate several nations in particular. He caught a glimpse of Estonia pulling Latvia out the door, but passed the two youngest Baltics over. If those two were headed outside, they would be fine. _

_His gaze settled on the table, and somehow remembered catching a glimpse of indigo fabric disappearing under there just after the explosion had hit. Russia ran over to the table, and, peeking under it, discovered the very nations he was searching for. Belarus, Ukraine, and Lithuania were all huddled under the long table. Down at the opposite end, Russia thought he saw two more dim figures, but there was no time to waste, and he had found the people he wanted._

_"Come on, big and little sisters!" Russia said, pulling Ukraine out from under the table, "This table will not be saving you when the ceiling is falling. You too, Litv… Lithuania."_

_The eldest Baltic looked up, surprise evident on his face. Then, he nodded and quickly crawled out from under the table, followed by Belarus._

_The four nations only barely managed to escape the meeting room before the second bomb went off. A few seconds afterwards, Russia heard a pained whimper from directly ahead of them, and was able to distinguish the shape of a seemingly small individual, who appeared to be kneeling on the floor._

_"Be coming along now," Russia said to his companions, and then headed off in the direction of the noise. To his surprise, it was not one of the physically younger nations that he found, but China. The older nation glanced up as Russia approached, and looked decidedly annoyed to see him._

_"Oh, it's only you," China muttered, "What do you want, aru?"_

_"Have you been hurting yourself?" Russia asked._

_"I didn't do it!" China said, sounding completely exasperated, "I hurt my leg trying to get out of the room. Some piece of rubble hit me."_

_"Then you cannot be walking by yourself," Russia decided, "So, you will be coming with me."_

_By this time, Belarus and Lithuania were ahead of them, both nearly running in their haste to get out of the building. However, Ukraine was standing slightly behind Russia, watching him and China._

_"Can he walk?" Ukraine asked, sounding nervous._

_"He does not need to be walking," Russia said. He reached down and grabbed China around his midsection, then hoisted the petite nation up so that he could carry him more comfortably._

_"Let me go, aru!" China snapped._

_Russia ignored this demand, and started walking down the hallway, carrying the protesting China, and leaving Ukraine to follow him. _

_By the time they were nearly to safety, two more bombs had gone off in the meeting room, and the entire building appeared to be about to cave in. Russia would have been running at full speed by this time if it had not been for Ukraine, who was not the fastest runner. He would not leave her behind._

_Just as Russia reached the doorway, a fifth and final explosion shook the building, and the hallway began to crumble. _

_"Russia, run!" Ukraine shrieked. Russia turned to grab her hand and pull her with him, only to feel himself being shoved forward. Although he was larger than Ukraine, it appeared that his sister was strong enough to push him forward when such a movement was required._

_Russia fell backwards, narrowly avoiding smashing both his head and China's into the pavement outside. As he fell, the building caved in on itself, burying everyone still inside, including Ukraine, who could have made it to safety had she run a few more steps forward, instead of pushing Russia to safety. _

_Unconsciously, Russia had released his hold on China, who scrambled to his feet, staring in the disbelief at the ruins of the building._

_"There were so many others still inside…" China murmured, sounding completely shocked._

_Russia said nothing, but remained on the ground, staring at the ruins. He heard footsteps, and suddenly Lithuania and Belarus were there._

_"It's…it's gone," Lithuania said in disbelief. _

_"They're all gone," Belarus said grimly, "We have no way to know how many escaped, if any."_

_"R-Russia?" Lithuania said softly, "Are you all right?" _

_Russia couldn't think of anything to say. He could only stare in disbelief at the place where Ukraine had disappeared._

_"Ukraine's gone," Russia murmured, "Everybody's…gone."_

* * *

It was hard to get used to some ideas, particularly the startling ones. This particular idea, the idea that the whole world as they knew it was gone… It was an impossibly hard concept to grasp, even for Lithuania, who knew a bit about the way different nations rose to power, and then fell just as quickly.

By some miracle, their battered little group had made it to an abandoned section of the city that the meeting had been held in. Lithuania felt that he should be able to remember what city it was, but after the events of this day, it was no small wonder that he had forgotten.

He and Belarus appeared to be the most able to function out of their group. However, in China's case, it was mostly the injury to his leg, and not shock, which had caused him to become semi-immobile.

Russia, however, was most definitely in shock. The other nation had done absolutely nothing other than stare into space ever since they had taken refuge in a large, abandoned building, which Lithuania suspected had once been a warehouse.

At the moment, their biggest problem was getting food. It was late summer, so heat would not be a problem for a while. Lithuania wasn't certain what they would do for a long term solution, but he knew that for now, they would have to lie low and hope Panem didn't find them.

Luckily, both China and Belarus had had some food with them, and combined with what would have been Lithuania's lunch, they managed to put together enough food for one small meal each for the four of them.

Neither China nor Belarus looked happy at the prospect of going anywhere near the extremely unpredictable Russia, and so, it was Lithuania who ended up delivering one fourth of their provisions to the larger nation.

"Russia?" Lithuania said softly, going over and kneeling in front of the other nation, who was sitting with his back against the wall and his legs tucked up against his chest, "Russia, you need to eat something, okay?"

"They're all dead," Russia murmured, not appearing to register Lithuania's presence.

"You don't know that," Lithuania said, "We escaped, so some of the others must have."

"Ukraine got buried in all of the falling rocks," Russia said, "She would have been okay, but she pushed me outside and got buried."

"She wanted to save you," Lithuania said, "Families keep each other safe, right?"

"How would I be knowing about families?" Russia asked quietly. The nation glanced up at Lithuania, his violet eyes wide and full of pain.

"I don't know about families, Lithuania," he said, "All I am knowing is that my sister is dead."

"Estonia and Latvia are probably dead too," Lithuania said. Instantly, he felt himself struggling to stop himself from bursting into tears at the thought of the two younger Baltics being crushed underneath a ton of rubble.

"They were so young…" he whispered, not even realizing he was speaking aloud.

"I saw them running away," Russia said, "They might be okay. Da, Lithuania, I think the little ones are okay. It…it would be not right for them to die, when they are so little, and have done nothing to hurt anyone."

_"I feel like he's forgetting things…" _Lithuania thought, _"Surely he knows that those two are capable of hurting others?"_

He himself had tried to remove the memories of life in Russia's house from his mind, to no avail. And if he couldn't get rid of that pain… Then how could Russia?

But, looking at the other nation, he realized that with all they were going through now, maybe Russia wanted to pretend that everything had been okay before. Because if he could believe that, he could believe in a chance for things to be okay again.

* * *

Latvia was scared. He and Estonia had hidden in one of the side rooms when the world conference had literally exploded, and, luckily for the two nations, this room had not been harmed extensively. At some point while they were huddled in the corner, Estonia must have wrapped his arms around Latvia, because the small boy suddenly became aware that he was practically sitting in Estonia's lap. He also became aware of the fact that the shaking throughout the building had stopped.

"E-Estonia…?" Latvia asked, glancing up at the other boy.

"I think it's safe to go out now," Estonia said quietly, "We can try to find some of the others."

Latvia hesitated, frightened.

"B-but… This is c-creepy… H-how come Panem w-wants to kill us?"

"I don't know," Estonia said, "I don't see why she can't just leave us alone. It not as if small nations like us could possibly pose a threat to her. Even the large ex-nations really aren't much of a threat."

The blonde Baltic paused for a moment, then gently attempted to push Latvia off of him.

"If you're too scared to go look around, then stay here," Estonia said, standing up, "I'll come back for you."

"N-no!" Latvia squeaked, terrified by the prospect of being left alone, "Don't leave me, Estonia!"

"Then come on," Estonia said, turning away. Latvia stared after him for a moment, then quickly got up and ran after the other boy, who had disappeared into the hallway.

He caught up with Estonia in what was once the conference room. Although he couldn't see much through the rubble, Latvia could see that there was blood on the walls and floor… And he could also see what looked like mangled bodies in the midst of the rubble.

Estonia was kneeling at the far end of the room, his back to Latvia. Even from this distance, Latvia could see that the older boy was shaking, and it frightened him.

"E-Estonia?" Latvia asked, taking a few steps toward the other nation.

"Don't come over here, Latvia," Estonia said. His voice sounded choked, as if he was trying very hard not to show emotion, and not succeeding.

"You don't want to see this."

"But, Estonia…" Latvia whimpered, "What's gonna happen to us?"

The blonde nation looked back at him, but then, Estonia's eyes widened in fear.

"What's the m-matter?" Latvia stammered, frightened.

"Well, well," said a cold, female voice from behind him, "Looks like some of you did manage to survive, after all."

* * *

**And this is a chapter. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep Estonia from taking over this story like he did the "Soviet Insanity" series... But it may not work. **

**Reviews are always welcome, and serve to make me not be depressed for a little while! :)**


	3. Survive

**Hello, everyone! I'm finally back, with the next chapter of "Written in Blood". Sorry for taking almost two weeks to update this! Stuff happened, and I didn't get it updated last week. But I plan to update this on Saturdays from now on, hopefully weekly. :)**

**Now, I'll say hi to the guest, and we'll go to the story! **

**Anonymous: Thanks for your review! I'm glad you like the story so far! :)**

* * *

Chapter Three: Survive

Estonia couldn't believe how much of an idiot he had been. After all the reading he had done, all the facts he had memorized, how had he not thought of the possibility that Panem would return to look for survivors?

She stood in the doorway, blocking the one easy path of escape, smiling. Not really smiling at him, though, but at…

"Latvia," Estonia said quietly, "Come over here, now. Do not turn around. Come over here, then turn around."

"B-but, Estonia…" Latvia whimpered, "You just t-told me not to c-come over there!"

"I…" Estonia paused, glancing behind him at the bodies on the floor.

"Stay there, then," he said, "I'll come to you."

"He knows it's me," Panem said, smirking, "He's not an idiot, are you, Latvia?"

"N-no," Latvia whispered, "I d-don't think so. Y-you're Panem, a-aren't you?"

"Turn around," Panem said, "Then you'll see if you're right."

Latvia complied, and, as Estonia had thought it might, his once ever-constant shivering returned.

_"I thought he was over that shaking… I suppose that was stupid of me, to think he would just get over it. As long as he wasn't in danger, there wouldn't be any problem, but now…"_

"A-are you going to k-kill us?" Latvia asked, eyes wide.

"Not if I can help it, she isn't," Estonia muttered. He had not the faintest idea what he _could_ do under these circumstances, considering that he was an unarmed, no longer immortal seventeen year old, against a possibly insane girl and several armed guards.

"Oh, don't worry," Panem said with a laugh, "I won't kill you two just yet."

"You just said that you wanted to kill us all!" Estonia snapped, "What are you playing at?"

"You're so suspicious," Panem said, as if Estonia had absolutely no reason to be suspicious of anyone, "I only wanted to kill you because you might influence my people to rebellion, and that wouldn't be very helpful to the creation of a new world, now would it?"

Estonia said nothing, settling for glaring silently at the young nation.

"But you two…" Panem said thoughtfully, "You were tiny countries, so the people here who belong to you… They must be almost nothing compared to the rest of the population. So, I don't think you pose a threat to me right now."

Panem grinned, frightening Estonia even more than she had before.

"I believe you could be useful to me," she said, "So, I think I'll keep you."

"Keep us?" Estonia snapped, "I don't think so!"

"I wouldn't resist, Estonia," Panem said, "You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to your little brother, would you?"

"He's not my brother," Estonia said. But then, he glanced at Latvia, and knew that, brother or not, there was no way he could resist Panem. Not if she was going to hurt Latvia.

The blonde boy sighed, and looked down.

"Fine," he said, "I won't fight you."

"E-Estonia…" Latvia whimpered.

"It's all right," Estonia said, walking over and grabbing the younger boy's hand, "We're going to be fine. If she tries anything…"

He paused, shooting a glare in Panem's direction.

"If she tries to hurt you, I will make her pay."

But despite his outward bravado, it was all Estonia could do not to burst into tears right there, in front of Panem, Latvia, and the men who appeared to be part of Panem's military.

_"All of our struggles to gain freedom, were they pointless? If we were only going to end up here, should we have tried so hard to get our freedom? I don't… I don't want to be treated like someone's possession again. Please… Why couldn't I have died, like…? Like Finland and the others?"_

It was Finland's body that he had not wanted Latvia to see. For although Finland had been his best friend, and not Latvia's, the smaller boy was still somewhat close to Finland. It would have been hard for him not be, considering that Latvia's own best friend thought of Finland as a parent.

Keeping to his word in spite of the overwhelming urge to attack Panem, to attempt to exact his revenge on her for killing Finland and, no doubt, many others, Estonia followed the girl outside. As they climbed over the ruins of what had once been the main entrance, Estonia could not help but notice a still form, half buried under the rubble. The part of the body that was not buried had obviously been uncovered by someone, although who had excavated the place, Estonia had no idea.

It was Ukraine. That much Estonia could tell, although the girl's body had been horribly disfigured by the rubble that had fallen onto her.

In spite of himself, Estonia let out a horrified whimper. Panem smirked at him.

"You don't like that, Estonia?" she said, "It's really a little bit sad, isn't it? She was so close to getting out, and she missed her chance."

Estonia couldn't say anything, couldn't even muster the energy to glare at Panem.

_"Finland… Ukraine… Both dead… Why? I don't understand why…"_

He did not realize that he had failed to tell Latvia to look away until the tiny boy made a strangled, frightened noise, and it was then that he realized how pointless it had been to even try to protect Latvia. They were being taken prisoner by a monster of a girl, a girl who had killed both his dearest friend, and a girl who had once meant something to him.

_"It would be better if we were dead too. Wouldn't it?"_

He wanted to cry, but looking at Latvia, who was already crying, Estonia realized that he did not have that luxury.

_"I have to be strong for him. I have to do for Latvia what Lithuania once tried to do for me. There is no Lithuania anymore. It's up to me to make sure Latvia will be okay. More than any of us, he deserves to live."_

* * *

England had absolutely no intention of letting America take charge, and he was certain he had made that perfectly clear. Letting America be the leader would only get them all killed.

The issue with not letting America be in charge, however, was the simple fact that the younger nation was the only person who had any idea of how to go about hiding from Panem.

Initially, America hadn't even been concerned. It was all just an elaborate joke, right? It didn't seem to matter to him that people had died, that people had been buried alive because of Panem. No, to America, it had to be a joke.

_"Although I suppose I can't blame him," _England thought, _"If America had been the one to do this, instead of Panem… Then it I quite likely I would want to believe that he had not meant to do it."_

However, mostly due to the combined persuasion of France, Canada, and England himself, America had at least accepted the fact that they would have to hide, at least for a little while.

"But where can we go?" France asked, "I don't know of anyplace safe."

"I got a place," America said, "I know a guy who lives close to here. He can help us out."

"Who is this person?" England asked.

"He used to be in my government, before all this stuff happened," America said, "Now, he's just a normal guy. But he told me… He told me if I ever needed his help, I should come."

"Can we trust him?" England asked, "Are you absolutely certain that he won't turn us in?"

"I… Uh…"

"England," Canada said quietly, "We don't have any choice."

"Mathieu is right, _l'Angleterre_," France said, "Zere is nowhere else to go."

England sighed.

"Fine, we'll go find this friend of yours," he said to America, "But if we all end up dead, or captured by that lunatic of a nation, I will never forgive you."

"You don't forgive me for anything anyways."

England froze.

_"Did he really say that? He thinks _I_ won't forgive _him_?"_

"England?" a quiet voice asked, "Are you coming? France thinks we should probably get going so we can reach safety by nightfall."

"Oh, right," England said, "Thank you, Canada."

_"I must have imagined it. Anyways, America's too egotistical to ever say something like that."_

* * *

Despite all his failings, America really did know the way to safety, and so, just before dusk, England found himself watching as the younger nation knocked on the door of someone the British man had never met, and had no way of knowing whether or not he could trust.

However, the man who opened the door appeared nice enough, and, at the very least, he did not immediately slam the door in their faces.

"Amer- Alfred?" the man asked, looking extremely surprised.

"H-hey, Mr. Nichols," America said, smiling weakly.

"What are you doing here?" Nichols asked, "And how are you… How are you alive?"

"Long story," America said, "So… I guess the thing with them trying to kill us made the news."

"You've been declared dangerous rebels," Nichols said, "They didn't make the idea of personified nations public, but they did list your names as those of dangerous criminals who were to be disposed of… And it won't be long until they identify the bodies left at the scene, and then they'll realize you're alive."

Nichols peered past America at England and the others.

"I assume these are some of your colleagues?" he asked.

"Yeah," America said, "This is my little bro, Canada, AKA Matthew, and my…friends… France and England, AKA Francis and Arthur."

"Pleased to meet you all," Nichols said, "Now… I think I can guess why you're here."

"You probably already did," America said, "We… Uh… We need your help."

"Why did you come to me?" Nichols asked.

"'Cause I trust you," America said, "And…I dunno where else to go."

"Understood," Nichols said, "Please, come in. It's not safe to stand out on the street… It hasn't been since the end of the world."

* * *

America stayed quiet as France and England took turns explaining the situation to Nichols. At first, the blonde boy had tried to explain, but the looks Nichols kept giving him, a mixture of blame and pity… Those glances made him feel guilty, and angry with himself for letting this happen.

Not that it had been his fault that the world had become a very different place. What could the avatar of a nation do, except watch and try to get his government to listen? And how was he supposed to know that his little sister was…?

_"Is this really real? Are we really going to die because of Panem? Why can't I just wake up from this crazy dream?"_

He became aware that someone was pulling on his sleeve, trying to get his attention. It was Canada.

"America, are you all right?" the other nation asked, "You were staring off into space again…"

There was a worried, frightened look in Canada's eyes that almost made America feel that this must be real, and not a dream, as he hoped it was.

"I'm cool, Canada," America said, smiling with an enthusiasm he didn't quite feel, "What's going down?"

"Mr. Nichols has a place for us to stay," England announced, "It was a good idea to come here, after all."

"It's a secluded cabin some distance from here," Nichols said, "Eventually, hiding from Panem may become impossible. I've heard rumors about what the new government has planned, and it sounds… It sounds as if they'll be keeping tabs on everyone. But, until then, you can hide there. I…I had it built as a sort of safehouse, in case something ever happened and I needed to hide. But, it seems that I won't be using it, so it may as well be put to use somehow."

"Thank you," England said, "I'm not sure where else we could have gone."

"Alfred's a good kid," Nichols said, and America suddenly realized that the others must have no idea that he was still listening.

"He's a bit of an idiot, but, yes, he is a good lad," England agreed.

_"Yeah, right, Iggy," _America thought, _"If I mean anything to you, how come you can't even say anything to me without making me feel like I'm worthless? Tell me that, okay?"_

* * *

In the middle of the night, as China and Belarus slept, Russia remained awake, watching.

He was fairly certain that Lithuania, the self-designated night guard, was not aware that there was anyone else awake. There was no doubt in Russia's mind that if the eldest Baltic had known he was awake, he would have told him to go back to sleep, that there was nothing to worry about.

_"But who can be sleeping when the world has all fallen apart?" _Russia thought, _"I am not understanding how China and Belarus are sleeping under these very bad circumstances."_

He also couldn't understand how they were still functioning. He, Russia, once one of the strongest nations, could not function, so how could the others?

How could Lithuania still go around acting normal, when his best friend and both of his…were they his brothers…? How could he go on, knowing they might be dead?

But, watching Lithuania in the mostly dark, abandoned building, Russia realized something. Lithuania made a point to only cry when he thought no one was watching, or when he could no longer stand the pressure of trying to keep his pain locked inside of him.

The brunet Baltic was shaking, and as much as Russia hated to admit it, even to himself, he had seen Lithuania cry enough times to know that the boy was crying now.

_"He is trying so hard, but why? Why is he trying?"_

"Why are we alive?" Lithuania whispered to the darkness, "Wouldn't it be better if we all died?"

_"Don't give up, _Litva_…" _Russia silently pleaded with the other nation, _"If you are giving up, we all will be. You almost made me believe we would be okay, earlier this day. But seeing you now, I see… You said it only to make everyone feel better, because you must try to make everybody happy. Silly _Litva_… I know now. You were lying."_

* * *

**My apologies if the scenes in England's POV seem a little awkward. I'm trying to get used to writing his character. He's harder than you'd think. xD Also, Nichols will be a very minor character in this story. I honestly doubt he'll appear again after this chapter, although I could be wrong. So, yeah. Random information, which you probably did not care about.**

**Also, a note on Russia. In this story, he has a much better grip on his sanity than he did in the Soviet era. (Well, he _did_ have a hold on his sanity, then he watched his sister die...) Anyways. At the moment, and throughout this story, he's going to be trying hard to stay sane. Will he manage to do that?I don't know. I honestly don't know. I guess we'll have to see. But he is consciously trying to pull himself together, even though he's scared and, as far as he's concerned, the world has pretty much just ended. **

**Review, please, and tell me what you think! :) **


	4. Protector

**Hullo! I'm back again! **

**Not much to say here, although I do have one note: There will be a torture scene in this chapter, but it will most likely be the least descriptive/disturbing one in this story. (And there will be a ****_lot_**** of torture later on, semi-unfortunately.)**

**With that said, on with the story!**

* * *

Chapter Four: Protector

Estonia was completely confused. As far as he could tell, after they had been taken into custody, they should have been locked into some sort of prison cell. Shouldn't they?

But, instead, here they were, in what Estonia personally thought of as something resembling a very fancy hotel room. They _were_ locked in, but other than that, it seemed like a very nice place to stay.

And that fact alone made Estonia _very _nervous.

_"What is that psychopathic woman playing at?" _he thought, _"This is even worse than Russia… At least he didn't kidnap us and then lock us in nice rooms. Well… He _did_ lock us into quite a few rooms, but they were cold and not very nice."_

It was dark now, and he was supposed to be asleep. But he couldn't seem to make himself sleep, even though he knew he needed the rest.

_"I don't trust Panem. I'll never trust Panem, and I will not fall asleep and leave Latvia undefended."_

As if sensing that Estonia was thinking about him, the smaller boy spoke up from his position in the other bed.

"Hey, Estonia?"

"What?" Estonia asked.

"Can I… Can I sleep over there with you?" Latvia asked.

_"Not a chance," _Estonia thought, and then instantly regretted it.

_"He's only a child, he's in a new place, he's frightened…"_

"Sure, Latvia," he said quietly, "You can come over here."

There were a few small noises as Latvia scampered over to Estonia's bed, and a rustling sound as the smaller boy pulled the blankets back in order to climb in.

"T-thank you, Estonia," Latvia said, "It was too scary all by myself."

"Yeah, whatever," Estonia said, "Just don't start thrashing around, okay? I know you have nightmares sometimes, but try to have them calmly, if you have to have any at all."

"I won't move or make any noise," Latvia said, snuggling closer to Estonia, "I'll be really, really still."

Estonia saw no point in replying, so he stayed silent. After a few moments, Latvia's steady breathing told him that the younger boy had gone to sleep.

"You're so young," Estonia murmured, stroking Latvia's silky hair, "What will happen to you?"

_"It's just like it was so long ago. We're trapped, and who knows what will happen? But this time…this time we're not immortal. We may not survive. I have to protect Latvia now, and I will. I promise, I'll protect him… Even if it means…that I will die. And there's a high probability that if I try to risk everything for Latvia… Then I will probably end up leaving this world."_

* * *

America woke up at dawn to the sound of Canada sobbing. For once, his brother was not being at all quiet or unobtrusive, although the American doubted he meant to be so loud.

"Canada?" America mumbled, trying to wake up completely. However, he relaxed once he heard France's voice coming from the general direction of Canada's sobs.

"It is all right, Mathieu," France said quietly, "We will survive."

"It's not surviving that scares him," England's voice said, "It's the thought of the others, isn't it, Canada?"

"Y-yes," Canada sobbed, "What if they're all dead?"

"You survived by hiding under a _table_," England said, "Some of the others have to be all right."

"Russia's sisters and Lithuania were hiding under the table too, in the beginning," Canada said, "Then someone came and pulled them out. They would have been safe there, but…"

"But Ukraine at least didn't make it out," England said grimly.

"Zere is no point in dwelling on it," France insisted, "We have to survive. Isn't zat hard enough?"

"We are going to search for the others," England said, "Or, at least, I am."

"We could talk about it after America wakes up," Canada said, sounding slightly calmer than he had earlier.

"'M awake," America mumbled, "Sorta."

"Then get up, you idiot!" England snapped, "There are things we have to do!"

"What are you so worked up about?" France asked.

"Unlike you, I care about the others!" England said, "I want to find them, if they're alive!"

"What about the micronations?" America asked, rubbing his eyes, "Do you think Panem'll go after them too?"

England's eyes widened, which surprised America, as he had not expected the older nation to have any reaction to the possible bloody fate of the micronations.

"She had better not," England muttered, "They're _children_, for the most part."

"Some of the nations are very young too," Canada said quietly.

"All the more reason to find them quickly," England said.

* * *

When morning came, Estonia awoke to find Latvia literally lying on top of him. The smaller boy had wrapped his arms around Estonia sometime in the night, and appeared to be using him as some sort of a large pillow.

Under different circumstances, it would have been extremely awkward, but, seeing that the Apocalypse had basically just happened, and they had barely survived, having Latvia there comforted Estonia.

Not wanting to wake his smaller friend, Estonia lay still, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that Latvia was crushing his upper body. For such a small person, Latvia seemed to get incredibly heavy when he was literally on top of you.

Then, the door opened, and Estonia started wishing that he was dead.

Panem stood in the doorway, flanked by her ever-present bodyguards.

"Aren't you two the cutest thing?" she said sweetly. Then, her expression hardened, and so did her voice.

"Get up, Estonia," she said.

"Why?" Estonia asked.

"Do it," Panem growled, "Remember our little…agreement? You follow orders, and I won't hurt Latvia."

There was nothing Estonia could say to argue with that. From what he had seen after the explosion, he knew all too well that Panem was completely capable of hurting or even killing Latvia.

Carefully, Estonia lifted Latvia off of him, and then, getting out of bed, walked over to Panem.

"Where are we going?" he asked, trying and almost succeeding at keeping his voice from shaking.

_"I'm getting better at this."_

"You'll see," Panem said, smiling.

As they left, Estonia heard a quiet, surprised whimper from behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Latvia staring after him.

_"I'll be fine, __Lati,"_ Estonia mentally promised the smaller boy. He really had no idea if he could keep that promise… But he would try.

He soon found out where they were going. From Estonia's rather extensive knowledge of punishment/torture methods, he thought he knew what was going to happen, from the moment that they entered the small room. Rooms with chains dangling from the ceiling and sharp objects lying around were _not_ good news, in Estonia's experience.

"I've heard some rumors about you, Estonia," Panem said, "Actually, I've been hearing rumors about all of you Baltics…"

Estonia froze.

_"She knows. How does she know? Who told her? And how much does she know?"_

"So, due to those rumors, we'll start with something that should be familiar to you," the girl said, "Would you be so kind as to cooperate with me, just this once?"

_"Not a chance," _Estonia thought, looking around for some way of escape. There was none.

"Come on now, Estonia," Panem said, "It will be so much better if you just do what I say. Then we can get the fun part faster."

_"To hell with your fun part! I don't want _any_ part in this!"_

Then he remembered Latvia, and realized that he could not fight.

"Fine," Estonia said quietly, "What do you want me to do?"

He had to fight the urge to panic as Panem secured his wrists in handcuffs, which were connected to the chains hanging from the wall.

_"This can't be happening… I want to go home… What will they do to me…? I want to go home… Please…"_

His wrists secured, Estonia could only kneel on the floor, which was hard, cold, and generally uncomfortable.

"Oops!" Panem said suddenly, giggling, "I forgot to have you take your shirt off, Estonia… It looks like I'll have to take it off."

_"She did that on purpose," _Estonia thought, as Panem began unbuttoning his shirt, _"She_ wants_ to humiliate me…"_

As it turned out, there was absolutely no point in Panem unbuttoning anything, as she ended up literally ripping Estonia's shirt off him.

"It wouldn't come off with your hands tied," she said, as Estonia let out an involuntary, startled whimper.

Then, to Estonia's utmost embarrassment, Panem proceeded to study him closely.

"You do have scars," she said, "Although not as many as I've heard Lithuania has. And… What is this? There's a scar on your heart, Estonia. How did that happen?"

Estonia shivered.

_"Scar… Heart… Lithuania and Latvia… Scared… All alone… _Insanity_…"_

"It's none of your business how that scar came to be!" he snapped, avoiding Panem's eyes.

"So it isn't," Panem agreed, "I just thought I would ask. Now, Estonia, I have one more question for you. Do you have any idea where any of the other nations are?"

"N-no," Estonia said. His suspicions had been confirmed by Panem's words.

_"She's going to torture me for information! And… I don't know anything…"_

"Really?" Panem said, "You look frightened, Estonia. Tell me… Why is that?"

"You're going to torture me," Estonia said, "I know you are."

"I don't think that's the only reason you're afraid…" Panem said thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip.

"I think you know something, but you don't want to tell me what you know. But, don't worry, Estonia… I'll make you talk to me."

"I don't know anything!" Estonia said. He could feel his heartbeat beginning to speed up.

_"Please not torture… I'm scared… Lithuania… Why aren't you here to save me anymore…?"_

"You shouldn't lie to me, Eduard von Bock," Panem said, "It's beneath you."

It was at that moment that Estonia realized that Panem was holding a whip, and it was just after this realization crossed his mind that she struck him.

Estonia couldn't stop himself. He screamed, his voice high-pitched and frightened.

"Is that all it takes to make you scream?" Panem said with a laugh, "You're pitiful."

The whip slashed down on Estonia's back again. The boy bit his lip and managed not to scream, but, soon, it became too much for him, and he was crying out in pain again.

"Tell me where the other nations are hiding," Panem hissed, "And I will stop hurting you."

"You're a monster!" Estonia spat, "Even if I knew where they were, I wouldn't tell you!"

"All the more reason that you should be punished," Panem said. That word, 'punished', was the deciding factor in Estonia's growing confusion. Where was he? Was he in the present, being tortured by Panem? Or was he in the long ago past, being punished for something he probably hadn't even meant to do?

"Please stop!" Estonia sobbed, "I'm sorry! I don't know what I did, but I'm very sorry I made you angry! Please… Mr. Russia…? Please stop…"

"Russia?" Panem asked, "Do I look like Russia to you?"

Her words only served to add to Estonia's confusion. The repeated lashes had hurt him more than he had been hurt in many, many years, and the only place he could think of where he would be getting hurt like this was a mansion in Russia, a mansion that was probably buried beneath the risen water now.

"Are you not Russia?" he asked, his voice sounding confused even to himself, "What is this? I don't understand…"

"Poor _Eesti_," Panem said, sounding almost sympathetic, "It's only the first time, and you're already so confused…"

"Why is this happening?" Estonia sobbed, "What did I do wrong this time?"

"Does it really matter?" Panem asked, "You know you're being punished. Isn't that enough?"

"Monster…" Estonia whispered, "You're a monster."

"So you keep on telling me," Panem said, sounding only slightly angered, "But I can't be worse than Russia. Did he kill you, Estonia? I know you were immortal then, but nations can die temporarily, can they not? Is that where you got that scar over your heart?"

"It wasn't Russia," Estonia choked out, "And it's a private matter."

"And I suppose the whereabouts of the other nations is also a private matter?"

"I don't know where they are!" Estonia whimpered.

"Really?" Panem asked, "You're certain?"

She slashed the whip down again, using more force than Estonia had thought possible. The blonde Baltic's pained cries shattered the silence once more. Estonia was crying openly now, sobbing uncontrollably.

_"Make it stop… Please, I'm sorry… Lithuania… Why won't you save me?"_

"I'm sorry!" Estonia shrieked, "Please forgive me! I don't know what you want me to do!"

"Tell me where the other nations are hiding," Panem hissed, "It's _simple_, Estonia… Can't you even grasp such a simple concept?"

"I don't know!" Estonia wailed, "I don't know where they are! Please stop! _Palun_… _Palun ei_…"

"I don't speak enough Estonian to understand what you're saying," Panem said, "And I will not stop until you tell me where the other nations are. Come on, Eduard… It's easy…"

She flicked the whip at him, but Estonia no longer cared. He felt himself slipping in and out of the real world, and while it scared him, he wanted to go fully into the peaceful, dark world that he kept on almost drifting into.

_"No more pain… Please…"_

Despite the pain from the lashes on his back and shoulders, Estonia felt himself beginning to slip into unconsciousness. It was so peaceful… And there was no one who could hurt him there…

So he closed his eyes, and despite the pain, he finally managed to go to sleep.

* * *

**No Russia and Co. in this chapter... But they'll reappear in the next one, never fear! And I promise Estonia will not be in every chapter as much as he is in this one! **

**Translations: **

**_Eesti_ (Estonian) - Estonia **

**_Palun ei_ (Estonian) - Please do not**

**OK, so, I am about 80% positive that a couple of you will remember where Estonia got the scar over his heart, as it was in one of my other stories. For those that don't know- I will explain it later in this story as well. As far as the Baltics, Russia, and Belarus are concerned, I'll probably be referencing other stories I've written, but I will explain those references in time. (Because I'm sure some of you definitely don't want to have to read through four other fanfics to understand the references. :) ) So, all will be explained in time. **


	5. Promises

**Hey, guys! Guess what? I'm alive!**

**That said, my apologies for not updating last week. I had practice for a youth group event, then the event itself, then Sunday, then we went to the city, and then my grandmother was in the hospital... So, yeah. It's been an interesting week. But everything is better now! :)**

**With that said, my apologies again for the long wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Five: Promises

When Estonia woke up, he was still chained to a wall, still in the room where Panem had tortured him. And he was frightened.

_"If I'm still here, does that mean she will hurt me again? Can I survive it if she keeps hurting me? What if…? What if it doesn't stop, ever, and I…? What if I can't take it?"_

"Oh, look," Panem said, "You're finally awake."

Estonia felt her fingers brush across his injured back, and he had to fight back a whimper.

"Do you like that, Estonia?" Panem asked, "You seem to have quite the interest in being hurt again, since you won't tell me anything."

"I don't know anything that you would take an interest in," Estonia managed, wishing she would stop tracing the outline of his injuries. Not only did it hurt, it was absolutely awkward to have a girl's fingers wandering around his back while he was chained and helpless.

"Is that so?" Panem asked, her fingernails gouging into his already injured back, "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Estonia gasped, "I am completely sure."

"And I knew that already," Panem said, "You see, Estonia, I didn't really care about getting information out of you. I know you're too useless for the others to tell you anything. I just wanted to see what you would do."

"You hurt me to see my reaction?" Estonia asked, his voice clearly betraying his disbelief.

"As I said," Panem said, "I've heard rumors about you. And one of the things I heard the most was that you can't stand to be shown how _worthless_ and _alone_ you are!"

"I am not worthless," Estonia forced the words through clenched teeth, fighting back the urge to scream at his tormentor.

"You are," Panem said, "You and Latvia aren't wanted by anyone, are you? There was one camera left intact at the place where I tried to kill you all. And from the footage on that camera, I saw Russia leaving, along with Belarus, China, and _Lithuania_."

_"So Lithuania is alive," _Estonia thought, feeling a strange sense of relief.

"If you were really needed, Russia would have tried to find you, like he found them," Panem said. "He tried to save his sisters and Lithuania, but not you and Latvia. You're _useless_ to everyone. And unlike Latvia, you aren't even nice to talk to or look at. You're just an introverted, cold-hearted teenager who spends all his time hiding behind a computer! Do you think you'll be _safe_ if you hide, Eduard? There is nowhere for you to hide here! And I'll break you. Believe me; I see the defiance beneath your fear. I'll rip that out of you, leaving you with only your terror. And if Latvia shows any sign of defying me, I will do the same to him."

"Don't you _dare _touch Latvia!" Estonia shouted, "You have taken everything else from me already! You killed Finland and Ukraine! You forced me and Latvia to part ways with Lithuania to save ourselves, and now you would break my only remaining friend's spirit while I watch helplessly? I think not! I think not…"

He laughed, a soft, morbid sound, a sound that scared him, because he recognized it as a remnant from a darker time.

"You heard rumors that I cannot stand to be alone, yes? Did you hear other rumors? About me being insane? I swear to you, Panem, if you touch Latvia, you will see that those rumors were very true! Am I insane? Not currently. But hurt my brother… And I will be."

"So little Latvia is your weakness," Panem said, "Don't worry. I want to break him in other ways than by torture, and I will not do it until I have taken you from him. Don't worry, Eduard. You won't live to see Raivis Galante break. I will break him by taking even you, his last pitiful excuse for a friend. I will take everything away from him, but I will do it only after you are dead. That is the promise I make to you."

* * *

They finally let Estonia go, and he returned to the room he and Latvia now shared. There, he found the other nation, curled up in the blankets. Latvia appeared to be asleep, but from the tears on his face, Estonia doubted that the smaller boy had been that way long.

"Oh, Latvia…" Estonia sighed, sitting down next to his friend, "What are we going to do?"

He didn't know the answer to that question, so of course, the sleeping child could not. Still, it was a comfort to him to know that he had one friend there.

_"But Panem is going to kill me. I don't know how, or when, but she is going to kill me. And when she does… When she does, what will happen to Latvia? She said that after I was dead, she would break him."_

"Estonia?" a small, sleepy voice asked.

A moment later, there was a relieved squeak, and Latvia threw his arms around Estonia. The blonde boy had to fight to keep himself from crying out in pain as his friend's arms rubbed against his injured back.

"You're okay!" Latvia said, "I thought maybe Panem was taking you away to kill you!"

"Well, that wasn't what she wanted," Estonia said, smiling at Latvia, "She just wanted to talk."

"She scares me," Latvia said quietly, "The way she looks at me is really creepy."

"Don't worry about it," Estonia said, "She won't hurt you, as long as I'm here to protect you."

"But what if you're not here?" Latvia asked.

"I'll always be here," Estonia said, "Always."

He knew it was a lie, knew that it was more than likely that he wouldn't be able to save Latvia. But there was nothing else for him to do but try and comfort his frightened, little friend.

_"I swear to protect you from everything that hurts. Or, at least… I promise I'll try. Until the day I die, I will protect you. Lithuania is not longer here to save us, so I must save you. But the one who takes the beating for the others must never save himself… Isn't that how it's supposed to be?"_

"Estonia?" Latvia said.

Estonia looked down at the boy, and saw that Latvia was staring up at him, his eyes wide and solemn.

"What is it?" Estonia asked.

"How much did she hurt you?" Latvia said, "You're bleeding. I can see blood through your shirt. If you don't take it off and try to wash the blood out, your shirt will get stained."

"If I take it off, then you will see what she did," Estonia said, "I can't allow it, Latvia. I… I have to protect you."

"I don't want to be protected if you're going to sacrifice yourself!" Latvia sobbed, "Do you remember that time long ago? Do you remember…? You told me that bandage was nothing, but it wasn't... Do you remember? I had scars on my hands, and they bled, and you were scared… But I made my scars bleed…because I was scared for you…"

Estonia did remember that bandage. It was the one thing that had helped the scar on his heart to heal instead of staying an open wound. Not…that the scar had gone away, in the end. And, looking down at Latvia's hands, which were wrapped around him, he realized that his friend's scars had remained, too.

"Yes, Raivis," he said quietly, "I remember."

"I don't want you to do something like that again," Latvia said, "If you try to protect me, then you might…"

"Latvia!" Estonia snapped, "I will keep hold of my sanity! I will survive this, and so will you! Please, Lati… Let me protect you."

"No!" Latvia blurted, "No, Estonia! I don't want to be protected like this! I…I'm scared… But I don't want…"

"You can't stop me," Estonia said, "You see, Latvia… Panem has..."

He broke off quickly, and looked down, remembering that he had to try and keep Latvia safe from the horror they had been trapped in. But it was too late, and the younger boy had already guessed at Panem's intentions.

"She shouldn't hurt you anymore!" Latvia whimpered, "It isn't fair!"

"She told me I was useless," Estonia said, "Useless, not wanted, alone… She made me feel that way, Latvia. Please… Don't let me add 'the one who cowered away and let his friend be hurt' to that list. Please, Raivis… I need to be useful for something."

"You are useful, Estonia!" Latvia sobbed, "But if you get hurt, and then you're dead, then you can't be here for me anymore!"

In one quick, angry motion, Estonia stood up, and, pulling his shirt over his head, revealed the wounds on his back to Latvia.

"_This_ is what that woman did to me," he said, hearing his voice go hard and cold, "She did it to me as a test. She has already planned out everything she will do to break me. But as long as I am alive, I will protect you. I promise you, until I die, I will take care of you."

_ "But when I am dead, then what? When I can no longer shield Latvia from Panem… What will she do to him then?"_

* * *

When Lithuania woke up, it was to feel a hand brush across his face. To his surprise, the hand belonged to China, who looked extremely startled to see Lithuania's eyes open.

"You were crying in your sleep, aru," China said quietly, "I didn't think you would want the others to see."

Lithuania nodded, brushing the remaining tears off his face.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "It would upset Russia if I cried in front of him."

"Why do you care so much about that guy?" China said irritably, "We're running for our lives, and he's doing nothing to help! I… I guess he has some excuses, but still! You would think he could do _something_ besides just sit in the corner, aru!"

"He's frightened," Lithuania said, glancing over at the apparently sleeping Russian, "He just saw his sister die."

"The others are probably all dead, too," China said quietly, "My family, I mean. Japan, Korea… Everyone. They're probably dead, but… You don't see me sitting around feeling sorry for myself, do you?"

"This is Russia," Lithuania said, "He's been hurt more than you know."

"Oh, I know about Russia, aru!" China declared emphatically, "I know… but I don't see why he can't at least _try_ to help!"

"He's still trying to get better," Lithuania said, "Believe me, China… You never lived with him. I did. He's a lot better, but… I'm afraid this could send him over the edge, and I'm worried that if that happens, he'll kill someone. We have to be careful about how far we push him."

"Why are you still taking care of him, then, aru? If he's that dangerous, why haven't you left him to fend for himself?" China asked, "I would have, if someone that deadly was in danger of snapping…"

"He's already hurt, and I don't want to hurt him anymore than he's been hurt already," Lithuania said, "He's had a very hard life, and now… He's frightened, China, and I don't want him to be alone, because he's more afraid of loneliness than he is of anything else. I…I want him to be safe."

"You think you can protect _Russia_?" China asked incredulously.

"No," Lithuania said with a sigh, "No, I don't. The more I've tried to help in the past, it seems, the more people were hurt. But…I can try. It's…it's a little like you and your family. Even though some of them hurt you, you didn't immediately push the others out, did you? You still took care of them…"

There was a long pause, and China looked down, sadness evident in his honey-colored eyes.

"Yes," China said at last, "I did take care of them, because they needed someone. And… I don't know, aru! What does this have to do with Russia?"

"I always used to try and help him, China... Even when he hated me, I wanted him to be safe and happy, so I helped him. And now, I… I _need_ to keep him safe."

"You didn't save your other friends…" China said suddenly, looking up at Lithuania, "So now…"

Lithuania nodded, feeling the tears threaten to spill over again.

"Yes, China," he said quietly, "I have to protect the only people left for me to save. You see… Protecting people, sacrificing myself… That's always been the only thing I'm good for."

"I would not say that, little one," said a voice from the corner.

Lithuania jumped.

"R-Russia! Were you listening this whole time?"

"Da," the larger nation said, "And, you know… I am going to be trying not to be crazy."

"Well, that's good," Lithuania said, laughing nervously.

"You're scaring him, aru," China informed Russia.

"No, he's not!" Lithuania protested, hearing his voice begin to take on a higher pitch.

"Lithuania," Russia said, "I am sane, you know."

"I know that…" Lithuania said, "I never said you weren't, did I?"

"Well, you did, but that was some time ago," Russia said, "But this was not the point I was wishing to make. You are not just good for saving others. You are also a good friend…"

The Russian looked down at his hands, sighing.

"And I am not so much of a good friend. But I will try hard to help, and… We_ can_ survive, da?"

"Y-yes," Lithuania agreed, "We can most definitely survive."

"Then let us try," Russia said, "Belarus, will you be waking at some time?"

"What?" Belarus asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, "What's the matter, big brother?"

The blonde girl stood up and went over to sit next to Russia. As China began attempting to discuss what they should do, Lithuania found himself beginning to be distracted by Belarus. The girl appeared completely oblivious to his presence. Once upon a time, he would not have been perturbed by this, and would have passed it off as merely the fact that she paid attention only to Russia.

_"But I remember when things were different. I wonder what happened? It seems like everything has gone back to the way it was before… Except that we can die now. But we have a chance. China's older than the rest of us… He might know what to do. And Russia and Belarus can fight, if it comes to that. And I can… Well, I can try to protect everyone. But still, I wonder… What changed between me and Belarus, in the days since we lived in Russia's mansion?"_

He shook off the thought, scolding himself for being inattentive.

_"This is _not_ the time to be distracted by Belarus. For now, we have to focus on surviving. Everything else will have to wait."_

* * *

**I promise this is the last Estonia-centric chapter for a while. Next time, the focus will shift to two other characters for...probably about two chapters. **

**Now, as I've said, Estonia's scar, Latvia's scars, etc. will all be explained in time. It's...kind of supposed to be confusing right now. **

**One more thing, although it really applies to the "Soviet Insanity" readers who are following this... Yes, something happened involving Lithuania and Belarus, and things went back to the way they used to be. That too will be explained in time. :)**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and, next time, the focus will shift to two other characters... Any guesses who? :)**


	6. Apprehended

**EDIT: Rewrote the first few paragraphs-they're still not very good... But they're better than before, I think! **

**Hullo! I have (barely) managed to update on time! Well, I'm half-asleep, so who knows how good this update even is, but... Hopefully it'll be okay!**

**So, as a couple reviewers guessed, the victims...ahem, heroes...of the next couple chapters are indeed America and England! Actually, this whole chapter except for one scene is in England's POV... That might explain why I'm not particularly fond of this chapter. But it's crucial to the plot, so... Have a chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Six: Apprehended

It has taken far too long, but England had finally managed to prompt the others into action. They had wasted three days, but, finally, they were going to take action. They would start their search for the others.

The last three days had been the longest of his life. Three long, tiring, painful days of trying to talk the others into action. Three days full of France's unhelpful comments, America's annoying attitude, and Canada's periodic disappearances, and then his reappearances with traces of tears on his cheeks.

Seeing Canada's reaction to the chaos they had been thrust into had been terrible, but the blonde boy finally seemed to have calmed down, to England's relief. They had driven back to the city in a car Nichols had left them, and after a drive of several hours, they were finally there.

Now, of course, the real work would begin. The other nations were, for the most part, intelligent, and England had no doubt that they would have hidden themselves fairly well to minimize the possibility of Panem finding them.

This, however, would also make it just that much harder for anyone else to find them.

"We'll have to split up in order to cover more ground," England said, once they finally found a place to park their car, "Now… Canada, how are you feeling?"

The blonde boy glanced up at him, his indigo eyes watery.

"I'm all right," Canada said quietly.

"Then I want you to choose who you want to go with," England said, "You're the most sensible person here, other than myself, I'm sure."

France huffed, sounding more than a little offended.

"Really, I don't zink zat…"

"Well, I do, France, so kindly be quiet and let Canada speak!" England snapped, seeing that the quiet blonde was attempting to answer.

"I'll go with America," Canada whispered.

"Yeah!" America said enthusiastically, "Now I don't have to go with French-fry or Iggy!"

"French-fry?" France asked, "I am not a food, America…"

"And my name is not Iggy!" England snapped.

He paused, sighing.

"It isn't even really England, now, is it?"

"Guess not," America said, opening the car door and hopping out, "Anyways, see ya, Iggy!"

The younger man slammed the door shut and bounded off, his cowlick poking out from under the hoodie he was currently wearing.

"I'd better go with him," Canada said, "We can meet back here in a few hours… Maybe at eleven?"

"Yes, yes, now run along, before you lose America," England said.

_"That idiot is going to get himself hopelessly lost, or worse, he's going to be kidnapped by Panem."_

There was a much quieter banging noise as Canada closed the car door. As England watched the younger blonde trot off in America's direction, he was struck by how vulnerable the two boys seemed.

"Will zey be all right?" France asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," England sighed, "If Canada can keep America from shouting as loudly as possible that he is the 'hero', they should be fine."

"Zen shall we start our search?" France asked.

"Certainly," England said.

But then, very quietly, he mumbled.

"I was so sure Canada would want to go with France. Wonderful. Even after the end of the world, I'm _still_ stuck with him!"

* * *

It was around ten o'clock, by England's calculations, when they ran into trouble. They had been searching since eight, and there had been no sign of anyone. England had scanned the nearly empty streets, hoping to see a flash of white fabric that would lead him to Russia, and the obvious pink that would likely lead him to Poland. He hoped to see many signs, but most of all, he hoped to see the flash of blue and white that would lead him to a young boy wearing a sailor's outfit.

_"I don't care if he's the most annoying child on earth. Sealand needs to be found and protected."_

He found none of these things, but, of course, he did find trouble.

It came in the form of Panem herself, marching briskly down the street, with her bodyguards just behind her. England wasn't certain, but he thought that she was probably looking for the same thing they were.

"It's her," France hissed in his ear.

"I can see that!" England snapped back. Although he hated himself for it, the blonde man found himself drawing back into the shadows, where Panem was less likely to notice his presence.

"What do we do?" France asked.

"How should I know?" England asked, "Pull your hood up! Maybe she won't notice us."

France sighed.

"But…"

"Would you rather survive, or die with completely pristine hair?" England snapped, "Don't be a fool, France!"

The older man complied with England's wishes, sighing. However, it did no good. England, watching from the shadows, saw Panem's sharp, green eyes scanning the streets, searching for her prey. When her gaze met his, the blonde nation looked down quickly. However, it was not fast enough. The two pairs of emerald eyes had met, and England mentally cursed himself for making eye contact. Even if Panem had not recognized his face, there were few people with the thick eyebrows he possessed, let alone people who both had such eyebrows and would want to stay in the shadows. Panem was no fool, and it was clear that she had made the connection.

"France," England hissed, "If I were you, I would get ready to run."

"Has she seen us?" France asked.

England opened his mouth to answer, but when he saw Panem turning, coming toward them, he realized that there was no time.

"Run, now!" the blonde man shouted, sprinting past France, and in the opposite direction from Panem. A moment later, he heard footsteps, and knew France was following him. However, from the shouts behind him, it was clear that Panem was in pursuit.

"Where do we go?" France asked, catching up, but allowing his pace to match England's.

"I don't know!" England panted, "Split up! Find those boys and get them out of here! Something!"

France nodded. The taller blonde's hood had flown back again, revealing his long hair, which was blowing completely erratically in the wind. At any other time, England would have laughed, imagining the tangled hair France would have to deal with later, but now, he could only think of escape.

The first gunshots sounded a moment later. There were screams, not from people who had been harmed, but from passersby, who saw not nations, but two ordinary men, being pursued for an unknown purpose by the uniformed soldiers, Panem at their head. They would not even see her as the personification of Panem, but as a strangely young soldier girl.

"Zey're shooting at us!" France announced.

"I know that!" England panted, "Keep running!"

The blonde thought back on the days when he had been able to run almost without stopping for long periods. He had never been as strong as America, but even so, he had been able to run well enough for a long distance.

Now, however, he was a mere mortal, and not a particularly strong one at that. Panem would soon catch up, and when she did, it would be all over.

"France," England wheezed, "I think we should split up."

"Why?" France yelped, sounding rather surprised, "I zought we were going to stay together… Wasn't zat what we agreed?!"

"Well, yes, but I…"

England was cut off midsentence by an unexpected, terrible pain in his leg. The blonde nation gasped, and, to his surprise, he felt his leg give out.

"Arthur?" France yelped, skidding to a halt, and turning to stare at him.

England looked down, and was strangely surprised to discover that he had been shot.

"I can't run," he gasped, gritting his teeth and staring down at his bleeding, throbbing leg.

"You'd better run along without me."

"Without you?" France echoed, staring at him.

"You can't carry me, idiot!" England snapped, "Run!"

France stared at him for a few precious seconds, while England tried to hold back a pained whimper. His leg hurt, and he wanted it to stop, but he also wanted France to run.

"Go, you absolutely impossible idiot!" England shouted, and France finally did, murmuring an apology under his breath.

England tried to stand, unable to stop himself from staring pleadingly at France's retreating figure.

_"Wait… Don't leave me. I don't want to be left. Come on, France, you idiot, why are you running away?!"_

But France was gone, disappearing in a whirl of fabric and long, blonde hair. And England was left alone, kneeling on the road, shot in the leg and, although he did not want to admit it, even to himself, in a great deal of pain.

"You'd better find Alfred and Matthew," he muttered, allowing his head to hang down slightly, "Sorry, France, but it looks as if you'll be taking care of them now."

"So my idiotic brother survived," said a cold, female voice above him, "How…amusing."

Panem stood above England, a gun pointed at his head.

"I wouldn't worry about France having to take care of those two all alone," Panem said with a slight laugh, "I'll find them all soon enough. After all, I have you now. I'm sure that in time, you'll tell me where they're hiding out. Won't you, Arthur Kirkland?"

"Not a bloody chance," England said. And he meant it.

_"I'm completely certain that in a human body, I won't be able to survive torture for long. I'm not strong physically, not like America… But I _do_ have mental strength, and plenty of it!"_

"Do try your best to make me talk," he said, glaring up at Panem, "You won't succeed. I'm stronger than that."

Panem glanced at her guards, and then at the people watching. Then, she bent down, and, pressing the gun to England's head, whispered in his ear.

"Maybe as the personification of England, you were. But now, you're not invincible. You're just a mortal, weak human. And I am planning to get very, _very _good at breaking humans."

* * *

America and Canada arrived back at the car before France and England did. Ordinarily, this would not have worried America, but, considering the circumstances, he was slightly disturbed, although, of course, he didn't show it. Heroes did not worry about their annoying older siblings. Or did they?

"It's really weird that Iggy let them be late," America commented, leaning against the side of the car, "Do ya think they found somebody?"

"I don't know," Canada said quietly, "I hope so. It would be better if all the survivors were together…"

At that moment, America heard the sound of footsteps, and, a moment later, France came running up. For a few seconds, America couldn't quite figure out what was wrong with that picture. Then, he realized something very important.

"France?" Canada said from behind him, "Where is England?"

France looked up at them, his blue eyes wide, and for a moment, America was confused. Then, he put together the pieces.

"You left him!" America shouted, glaring at France, "Where is he? Stupid France, you were supposed to stay together!"

"I tried to stay with him!" France replied, stepping back a little, "It wasn't my fault!"

"What happened to him?" America yelled, "You two were supposed to protect each other! That's what me and Canada were doing!"

"America, stop," Canada said, his voice still soft, but firm, "You're not helping."

"You left England," America muttered, glaring at France, "Why?"

"We were being chased," France explained, "Zat women… Panem… She shot him, and zen he told me to run…"

"So you left him to _die_?" America whispered.

"She shot him in ze leg… He couldn't run…" France was obviously upset, although America doubted that the other nation could be anywhere near as distressed as he felt.

"I'm sorry," France said with a heavy sigh, "I should have… I should have done something. But he told me to run, and at ze time…"

"It's not your fault, France," Canada said. "We…we need to go before Panem tracks you here."

"But what about England?" America asked, looking up at the other two nations, "We're just gonna leave him to get tortured or executed or whatever they'll do to him?"

It was then that America started to believe that something had really happened to their world, something bad. Before, it had almost seemed unreal. But now… Now England was gone, and it didn't seem right not to have him there, being annoying and insisting on being called England, not Iggy. It seemed completely and utterly wrong not to hear an accented voice calling America an idiot.

"We don't know where zey took him," France said helplessly, "We'll try to zink of something, America, just…"

"I want to go find England!" America snapped, "He needs help, right? So let's go help him!"

"Alfred…" Canada said, "He's gone. We don't know where he is right now, but if we can find him, then we'll…"

"We'll sit here and do nothing!" America shouted, "That's what we'll do, isn't it? That's all you guys will ever do!"

"No, we'll try…" France said, "We'll… I don't know… I'm sorry… Mathieu, Alfred… I don't have ze answers to any of zese questions…"

"It's okay, France," Canada said, hugging the taller blonde sympathetically, "It's not your fault, and America doesn't really blame you. Right, America?"

America said nothing. In spite of the fact that there probably hadn't been any way France could have saved England, no way he could have made sure America's brother got back safe and sound… It still felt as if France, and France alone, was solely responsible for the fact that England was no longer with them.

_"These guys are gonna do absolutely nothing. Once we get back, France is probably gonna make a list of reasons why we can't go save England. So I guess it'll be up to me to help, if those guys decide there's nothing we can do, that it's 'best' to abandon England. But I'm not abandoning anybody! If I have to, I'll save England on my own!"_

* * *

In his rather lengthy existence as a nation, England had gotten himself into more than one bad circumstance. But never before had he been this vulnerable. Never before had his injuries taken more than a few hours to start healing.

He thought-or, at least, he hoped-that France, America, and Canada would be safely back at the cabin by now.

_"I wonder what America thinks about all this. I…I rather expect he doesn't care. It's probably best if he doesn't care. That way he can't try to save me like the idiot he is."_

When he had first arrived at what he believed was the headquarters of Panem's military, they had taken him to some sort of medical ward, where they had bandaged his leg. It was an unexpected gesture, but England suspected it would be the last kindness he would receive for some time.

_"After all, it wouldn't do for me to die before they even started… Before they even started whatever that psychopathic woman plans to do to me."_

He had half-expected to be killed, but, he realized, killing him quickly wasn't Panem's style. If England had been in her position, he would have kept a detailed list of everyone who was at large, and he would never, ever, have let someone die who might have information he needed.

_"Of course, were I in Panem's place, I wouldn't have done any of this. But, well… I suppose she may be insane. As a matter of fact, anyone who goes around hunting and killing innocent people, some of them children, _is_ insane."_

Now, he was sitting alone in what appeared to be an office of some sort. He had been told that someone would be coming to see him, and he rather fervently hoped that that someone would not be Panem.

_"I would rather not have to exchange words with that…person…just at present."_

However, he had apparently run out of luck somewhere during the last century, as when someone finally_ did_ come in, it was none other than Panem herself.

"Hello again, England," the girl said, sitting down on the other side of the desk. England had a sudden, impulsive urge to strangle Panem, but considering the fact that his hands were restrained by handcuffs, this did not appear possible.

_"I really ought to have worked harder on empty-handed self defense…"_

"Good day," England said icily, glaring at Panem.

"Now, now," said Panem with a laugh, "Let's not be so grumpy, shall we?"

"You are attempting to kill me and most of the people I care about," England said, "I see no reason to be cheerful."

He paused, waiting for Panem to respond, but she merely giggled.

"Let us get to the point," England said, "I assume there _is_ a point to this meeting?"

"If that's the way you want this to go," Panem said, "We can skip the pleasantries. You've been around for a while, and you're not _that_ stupid. You already know I'm going to kill you."

"Indeed," England said, "But I also know that _you_ are no idiot, Panem. And therefore, I deduce that you will not kill me immediately."

"That is a pretty smart thought," Panem said, "And you're right. I'm not going to kill you yet, although rest assured, I _will_ kill you eventually."

"Then you are, at least, intelligent, despite your psychopathic tendencies," England said.

Panem glared at him, her anger evident in her green eyes.

"I'll offer you a choice, England," she said, "If you tell me where France and whoever else you had with you have gone to hide, I won't torture you. You don't seem like the type who would do well under torture."

England smiled grimly.

"I believe you'll be surprised. I may not be quite so invincible anymore… But I'm not going to let you break me just because of that. You'll see. Now… I suppose you'll want to begin immediately, won't you?"

* * *

**OK, so... That was a chapter, largely involving England... Please don't kill me for this yet. I don't think I deserve to die for this...yet. xD **

**Anyways, as you can see, the other characters are absent in this chapter-but they will reappear in...probably the chapter after next. It'll be easier for me to keep track of them all and what they're doing after certain events in the near future, so...**

**Review? Pretty please? I will give you virtual food...**

**Okay, I'm going to bed now. Never again will I do a karate demonstration, attend a wedding, and then visit my grandmother, all in the same day...**


	7. Hero's Folly

**I actually managed to update! Yippee! **

**This chapter will focus mainly on America and England (again), as will the chapter after it, but after that, the focus should split to other characters again.**

**Actually, England doesn't have all the POVs in this chapter (fortunately), so hopefully, this will be a better chapter than the last!**

* * *

Chapter Seven: Hero's Folly

Canada watched, silent and unnoticed, as France and America argued. He couldn't understand why they had to fight at a time like this, when everything was already falling apart.

"Don't we have enough to worry about without tearing each other's throats out?" the curly-haired boy whispered, "Isn't the world already ending quickly enough?"

Unnoticed, Canada began to cry quietly.

_"I want to go back… Even the days when everyone thought I was America and beat me up accordingly… Even that was better than this… It's disturbing when they fight amongst themselves now… They could actually hurt or kill each other. This isn't funny anymore. Life isn't a game anymore…"_

"You just don't care!" America shouted, his voice betraying both his anger at France and the desperation Canada suspected he felt, "You don't care if England dies!"

"Why do _you _care?" France retorted, "You don't even like him!"

"If you think that, you really are an idiot!" America snapped, "Sure, England's as annoying as… Well, everything… But he's still my brother, isn't he?"

The blonde boy glared at France, his eyes narrowing.

"If Canada had been the one kidnapped, you would save him."

"Alfred, please don't bring me into this…" Canada whispered, although he knew America would not hear him. No one seemed to hear him even when they were calm, let alone when engaged in an argument.

"Zis is not about _who _has been kidnapped!" France retorted, "Zis about your safety, Alfred, and Mathieu's! It is about your lives! Do you zink _l'Angleterre _would want you two to die trying to save him?"

"I'm supposed to be the hero here!" America yelled, "I'm not just gonna leave him!"

Angrily, the blonde boy turned and marched off, leaving France staring after him.

"America…" France said weakly, "Please, listen to me…"

There was no response, and, a moment later, Canada heard the outside door slam shut.

France sat down heavily on the other couch, for which Canada was grateful, as the older man probably would have sat on him had he sat on the same couch. Then, to the boy's surprise, France buried his head in his hands, shaking.

"Francis…?" Canada whispered, "Francis, it's okay…"

There was no reply, and, after a moment's hesitation, Canada went over to sit next to the older blonde.

"Mathieu?" France asked, his voice hoarse, "Did you hear all zat?"

"O-oui," Canada whispered, "But it's okay."

"I really don't want to leave him…" France said, "E-England, I mean… But… It's what Panem wants! Zat crazy girl wants to draw us in, and zen… If she catches us, we'll never get out…"

"I know," Canada said, "It's all right. America's angry right now… But he'll see eventually that you did this to protect us…"

"I didn't zink he cared about England," France commented.

"N-neither did I," Canada said, "But, I guess… England is like his brother, and it's hard not to care about your brothers…"

At that moment, to his surprise, Canada heard what sounded disturbingly like a motorcycle engine starting.

"France," he said, his eyes widening, "Did America go outside?"

"Oui…" France said distractedly, "But he'll be…"

The blonde man's voice trailed off, as he too heard the motorcycle.

"Zere was a motorcycle in ze garage, as well as a car… Wasn't zere?"

"Alfred…" Canada breathed. Almost before he had uttered his brother's name, France had leapt up and run from the room, leaving Canada to follow.

They ran out onto the porch of the cabin, to see the very thing Canada had most feared. America sat astride a black motorcycle, which he had apparently just driven out of the garage.

For a moment, America turned back to face them, his expression angry and determined all at once.

"I'm going to save England, even if you guys won't!" the boy shouted, glaring more at France than at Canada, "I know you don't care what happens to him, but I do, so I'm going!"

"America, no!" Canada cried. His intended shout came out as more of a loud whisper, and he did not know if America heard him.

"You imbecile!" France shouted, "You'll be killed!"

America's grim expression was the last Canada saw of his brother's face, before the other boy turned away. The motorcycle's engine grew louder, and then, America began to disappear into the twilight, speeding off on his quest.

"A-Alfred…" Canada whispered, "Please, don't…"

"Zey'll kill him," France said, his eyes wide, "Panem will kill him."

Canada could say nothing, could only stand and stare.

_"Alfred… How could you be so foolish? You're riding to your death… Can't you see? She wants you to die… This was your land, this earth we're standing on now. It used to belong to you. Panem will… Panem will kill you. And how can you think that you, alone, can possibly save England? You… You'll die…"_

* * *

England could remember being in terrible pain many times in his life. In recent years, he had often felt as if his body were being torn apart, as his nation slowly sank under the ocean. He had heard the cries of his people as if he had been there with them, and he remembered screaming himself. Few of the nations had been unaffected by the terrible pain as their land became no more than, perhaps, a mountain, deep under the ocean, and they had tried to stand that pain together.

He had survived that pain, as had they all. But it had come with a deep consequence, and there was something jarring about the knowledge that he could die, that his body was no longer indestructible.

And, although he tried to reason with himself that all this torture could possibly be was a beating, non-fatal, he could not convince himself completely. For all he knew, Panem would kill him as soon as she was done toying with him. And she _was_ toying with him, England was certain. She was taunting him with the impossible hope that he might be allowed to live.

_"If I die, I'll never see the others again. I wonder… Will they be all right? Well, I suppose Canada is sensible enough. Maybe he can keep the other two out of harm's…"_

England's thought trail was cut off by a sharp jab of pain as something cut into his shoulder. Caught by surprise, the blonde man moaned slightly, and immediately berated himself for showing any sign of weakness.

"Kindly stop beating me with that stick, and tell me what your purpose is!" England snapped.

"I'd hardly call this a stick," Panem said, waving something in front of him. England could now distinguish the torture weapon as a long metal rod, pointed and sharp on the ends, and while this did explain why it hurt so much, the sight of the weapon diminished his hope that he would survive this torture session.

"As for my purpose…" Panem continued, "I want you to tell me where your friends are hiding."

"Panem," England said, "Go to hell. I will not tell you where they are, so kindly go burn and leave me in peace!"

"I would watch my tongue if I were you, Englishman," Panem said, gouging one end of the metal rod into England's back, "You're hardly in a position to tell me what to do."

"Is that so?" England asked, "Well, let me tell you something, Panem. I am, as you have mentioned, an Englishman. Once upon a time, I would have termed myself invincible. But even now, I'm stubborn. I don't care whether I'm in a position to tell you to do things or not. I'll do it anyways, simply out of spite, because, quite frankly, I don't like you."

"Well, you supposedly invincible, stubborn, British fool," Panem said, "I would rethink your choice to speak freely, if I were you. Because, you see…"

She leaned down toward him, her green eyes glinting.

"I can easily take away your power of speech."

England glared at her, feeling an overwhelming urge to do something quite ungentlemanly and hit this woman.

"I can find plenty of other ways of communicating," England said, "A good, swift kick to your midsection would be my prime mode of communication just now."

Slowly, painfully, Panem raked the pointed end of the metal rod across England's cheek. In spite of himself, the blonde man flinched.

"I can make your life hell," Panem hissed, "You do realize that, don't you?"

"Certainly," England said, "However, submitting quietly is simply not my style."

Panem clearly enjoyed seeing pictures painted in the color red. Almost delicately, and painfully slowly, she scraped her weapon down England's face, down his neck, across his brutalized back, creating a long, twisting wound. The blonde man moaned quietly, unable to withstand the pain as Panem's weapon cut deeper into his body.

At that moment, something buzzed. It took England a moment to realize that it was Panem's mobile phone, and when he realized it, he nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity of a phone going off during a torture session.

However, when Panem threw the metal rod down to answered her phone, all traces of laughter faded from England's mind.

"What?" Panem asked, sounding irritable.

"Miss Panem," said the person on the other end of the connection-one of Panem's soldiers, England guessed, "An intruder has entered the building."

"Describe him," Panem said.

And then, the man on the phone said the thing England had most dreaded.

"It's some blonde kid, pretty tall, and he has a weird cowlick. Also, he's shooting things in an extremely haphazard manner."

_"America, you _idiot_!"_ England mentally berated the boy, _"You're going to get yourself killed!"_

Then, to his horror, Panem smiled. It was a sinister smile, and in that moment, England become certain that there was something terrible in store for America, for his brother.

"Make sure he gets up here unharmed," Panem said, "Lead him to the prison. I'll take care of him myself… But he needs to get here alive!"

* * *

There were bars on the window. Latvia hadn't noticed them before, but now, he did.

The tiny boy stood looking out at the dark sky, his hands grasping the bars. Beyond the bars was a windowpane, but even if he could have broken it, even he could not have squeezed through the bars and reached safety.

"Why did this happen?" Latvia whispered, "Why are we alive? S-shouldn't the strong people survive? That's what's supposed to happen, right? So…if the stronger ones live, then… Why am I still here?"

He glanced over at Estonia, who was asleep on the bed. The older blonde had taken his shirt off at some point, and Latvia could see that his friend's injuries were healing, but not quickly. Estonia would have more scars to add to his collection.

Quietly, cautiously, Latvia went over and sat down next to Estonia. Almost without meaning to, the boy began tracing the outline of Estonia's scars, his slim fingers shaking.

"Why do you always get hurt?" he whispered, his voice sounding young and scared, "You know you can't heal fast anymore, and you still get hurt. Don't you know that I don't want you to protect me? I want to protect you, Eddy…"

Suddenly, Latvia felt overwhelmingly alone, and terribly, ridiculously small in a world where he was no longer immortal.

"I never want you to die," he said to the sleeping Estonia, "I want you to stay with me, please… I know you have to try to protect me, because you feel like you failed before…"

Latvia winced involuntarily, looking down at his own scarred, shaking hands.

"It's okay if you don't want to protect me," he said, "I would be happy if you were safe, Estonia. Because, you know what?"

Leaning over his sleeping friend, Latvia traced the outline of Estonia's deepest scar-the one over his heart.

"I don't ever want you to get hurt again the way Mr. Russia hurt you. So, Eddy… Try to remember we're human now, okay? Humans only have one life. Don't…don't waste yours."

And then, frightened, tired, and afraid, Latvia let himself cry, his tears falling onto his last friend, the pale, scarred Estonian boy who Latvia feared would throw his life away.

* * *

America was finding this dystopian hero business surprisingly easy work.

_"Who knew you could kill a couple guards at the entrance and get a free pass into the rest of the building?"_

Despite the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying this so-far successful heroic mission, America couldn't shake the feeling that this was _too_ easy.

_"There are only a few open doors in this crazy place. I guess they're leading me somewhere. Maybe there's somebody up in the sky on my side, taking me where I need to go… Or, way more likely, I'm being led into a trap. But no little sister of mine will trap me! Nobody traps Alfred F. Jones!"_

Finally, after what felt to America like a lifetime of searching for open doors, he found his way to what looked like the prison area of Panem's military headquarters.

_"Yes!" _America thought jubilantly, grinning, _"Now, to find Iggy!"_

Almost as if in answer to his thoughts, someone screamed. America couldn't be sure, but it sounded suspiciously like England.

_"But it can't be him. No way in hell would England ever scream, no matter what was happening to him."_

The boy paused, considering his options.

_"All the same, can't hurt to check it out."_

With this thought firmly in place, America marched down the corridor in the direction of the repeated, pained cries, fully expecting the tormented individual to be some human he had never met before.

However, to his horror, the person screaming was, in fact, none other than England.

From the other side of a transparent wall, which was not made of glass, but of some more resilient substance, America could see England, chained and helpless.

"England!" America yelped, skidding to a halt, "What the…?"

He was immediately silenced, however, by what happened next. America had barely noticed the man-a human, in a uniform identifying him as a member of Panem's military-but what happened afterwards fixed the human soldier's face forever in his mind.

Almost indifferently, the soldier raised what America identified as a particularly vicious-looking metal rod, and then, viciously raked the jagged end across England's back. From the wounds on the older nation's body, America could imagine how long the torture had been going on, and he judged that it had been some time that England had been chained there.

England screamed. The blonde nation's eyes were clouded with pain, and in that moment, America was incredibly, unbearably angry with his own sister, with the soldiers who had more than likely been his citizens once, or else, the people of one of his dear friends.

"Hey, stop it!" America shouted, "Leave him alone!"

Angrily, the blonde boy banged on the window, causing both the soldier and England to look up.

America's eyes met England's, and, to America's shock, there were tears in England's eyes. England, who never cried except when he was drunk, was in tears.

_"Okay, he cried one other time. So what? It's not like he cares…"_

England was mouthing something to him, but America could not tell what. Run?

"Hang on, Iggy!" America said, trying to stay optimistic, "I'll save you!"

"Oh, you'll save him, will you?" said a voice behind him.

America jumped, but as he turned to face the unknown presence, something hard smashed down on his head. Just before he fell to the floor, America caught a glimpse of Panem standing over him, a cruel, sadistic smirk on her face.

"You'll save him?" Panem repeated, "You pathetic oaf! You couldn't save anyone even by sacrificing yourself. Which, I've heard, is the only way you really _can_ save someone. But no one's going to tell you that, are they?"

* * *

Through the clouded windowpane and the agonizing haze that threatened to overwhelm him, England saw America crumple to the ground, and knew that everything was over before it had even really begun.

"She'll kill you," he whispered desperately, his voice hoarse from screaming, "Panem will kill you, America. Why… Why did you come here?"

The darkness and pain threatened to engulf him, and although he knew that he should not fall asleep at such a time, England felt as if he had no choice.

"You idiot…" he whispered, "You should have stayed safe. France… Why did you let him come?"

Someone was hurting him again, but England no longer cared. All was lost, anyways. Their chances of escape, as far as he could tell, were absolute zero.

He let the darkness overwhelm him.

* * *

**So, actually, two people who weren't America or England got POVs in this chapter... **

**I cannot write Canada. He confuses me. And England is still extremely weird to write... *dies* This is why I lean towards writing the Baltics, you see... xD **

**I hope you all liked this chapter! The next one should be up next week, although after that updates may be slightly infrequent... ****As some of you know, I'm attempting to write an original story, as well as my fanfictions, and I'm planning to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo next month and finish one of my ongoing original stories. Therefore, updates to this story may be a little infrequent for the month of April, but they should resume regularly in May! :) **


	8. Nightmare Fuel

**Why, look! A miracle has occurred! I am actually updating on time, and on the correct day!**

**That aside, I'll have things to say at the end, but for now, on to the chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Eight: Nightmare Fuel

America wanted more than anything to believe that this was all a dream, and that he would wake up at any moment.

But he had woken up just a few minutes ago, only to be brought here, to what he assumed was Panem's office.

She had been the one who had knocked him out, he knew, and he couldn't understand why she hated him. America still could not understand how his own sister, the child he had found and raised, could possibly want to kill him.

And seeing England being tortured, _screaming_ in pain, and knowing that Panem was responsible for it… America could no longer deny the cruel reality. His sister wanted him dead, and she did not only want to kill him, but his friends as well. And he did not know why.

Panem sat across from him now, smirking, and America had difficulty reconciling her proud, confident image with the child he had once known.

"Well?" Panem asked, "Aren't you going to say anything? Don't you have some stupid, heroic fact that you want to tell me?"

America stared desperately at the younger girl, confused, and, although he would never have admitted it, slightly frightened.

"Why?" he whispered, "Why, Panem? Why do you want to kill us? H-how could you just kill Ukraine and Finland and so many of the others like that?"

"Why?" Panem echoed, "How could I? Well, you tell me, America. You were the one who made sure that I would be overlooked unless I did something big, something everyone would notice. It's your fault, really. You could never be bothered to insure that I would grow up to be like you, and not what you and your friends seem to feel is a foreign, monstrous creature."

"W-what?" America asked, "What are you talking about, Panem?"

"You," Panem hissed, "Were _never_ there for me. You may think that you can leave a child alone and expect her to grow up happily, but you can't! You don't seem to understand, America, what it was like having to explain to every human child I met that I would grow differently than they would, and to not even have someone older to help me see that I needed to pretend in order to make human friends. I stopped trying after a while, because, do you know what? I scared them. Nations are not human, and things that aren't like them make the humans scared. You could have at least warned me about that!"

Panem's eyes were alight with fury, and, for the first time, America began to wish that he had given in and accepted England and France's offers to help him try to raise the child that Panem had once been. At the time, he had thought they were joking about how hard raising a child could be. Surely a child would be fine as long as it was fed and clothed?

"You had no idea how to raise a child, did you, America?" Panem asked, glaring at him.

"N-no," America said, looking away, "No, I didn't. I… I'm sorry."

"The fact that you can say it so casually proves that you aren't sorry at all," Panem informed him, "Think about it for a while. After you got your independence, wasn't it a bit… Lonely? Wasn't it lonely, without your precious England around?"

America said nothing, but he remembered wishing that he could at least talk to England in a civil manner, that they could at least be friends. Ever since then, England had seemed to hate him, and he didn't want to think about that. But once he did, he couldn't stop.

"I d-didn't mean to isolate you…" he stammered, not knowing what to say to Panem, to the girl who, it seemed, he had turned into a monster.

"Then you should have helped me make friends and told me how to survive as an immortal being in the mortal humans' world!" Panem snapped, "And you should have thought for one moment about someone besides yourself!"

She smiled, an angry, vindictive smile. It frightened America.

"But you do care about England," she said, "What a pity. I'll kill him, you know."

"N-no!" America blurted, "Don't touch England! You're not even mad at him, are you? If you're mad at me, then… Then… Kill me, I guess."

"You pathetic, naïve little boy," Panem said, "It's sad, really, that you don't understand this situation. You're at war now, America, but not as a nation. You're just a so-called insurgent named Alfred F. Jones, and you don't seem to understand that _I_ control your fate._ I_ will be the one to decide who lives and who dies. So, I will kill England. And you will watch, because if you flinch, if you look away, he will suffer for that much longer before I end him. Then, I will make you tell me where France is. I will capture him, and any of the other surviving nations. And then, America, I will kill them too. I will kill Canada, and Lithuania, and Japan, and anyone else you care about."

She paused, smiling, and America could only stare in horror.

"And then, finally," Panem said, "When everyone you love is dead, and you are alone… Then I will kill you."

"All this because I suck at being a big brother?" America asked, horrified, "Come on, Panem… You can't punish everybody else just because I… Because I failed. You can't hurt everybody else because of that."

"They'll die either way," the girl informed him, "I may as well kill them slowly, in front of you, so that you will realize something very important. Can you guess, Alfred, what that important thing is?"

America tried to think, but the only images that would come to mind were the images of Panem torturing his friends, his family.

"W-what is that important thing?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"You," Panem said, "Are not a hero."

America could only stare at her, his eyes wide.

"W-what do you mean I'm not a hero?" he asked, trying to deny a statement that he feared might be true, "Of course I am!"

"Think about it," Panem said, smirking, "Maybe right now, you can convince yourself that you'll get everyone out of this, and everything will be okay. But it isn't true, America. You're not hero material."

"I am too!" America protested, "And we _will_ get outta here! Everybody will escape! I'll save them from you, and then you'll see that I really am a hero!"

"Heroes are selfless," Panem informed him, "They don't think about themselves, but about others. Tell me, America… Do you do that?"

"I t-try…"

"No, you don't!" Panem spat, "Heroes do _not_ act so proud that they can't even ask their own brother for help because they have no idea how to raise a child! And they _definitely_ don't ignore the aforementioned child, forcing that child to have to figure out a way to be recognized as something more than just 'America's sister'!"

"I'm sorry!" America shouted, "I really am sorry, so quit rubbing it in my face! I'm freaking nineteen years old! How the heck was I supposed to take care of a random kid? I had no idea what I was doing; I admit it! But you can't punish everybody else because I screwed up! People don't do that!"

"I've been told that Russia did," Panem said, laughing, "And I am far more equipped to administer punishment than that pathetic, half-mad man could ever be."

_"Lithuania's scars… How does Panem even know what happened?"_

"Don't hurt my friends," America whispered desperately, "Please, Panem…"

"Oh, I won't just hurt them," Panem assured him, "I'll _kill_ them. And rest assured, America… By the time I'm done with you, you will have realized that you can't save anyone. You are not a hero. You're far too selfish for that, and you always will be. I hope you're happy that your mistakes have led to this. Not that I would have spared you even if you _had_ treated me well. I would have killed you anyways. But I might not have done it so slowly had you at least pretended to care. You have no idea what I went through. Being alone, America, is the most horrible thing a child can experience. And I was alone. You never cared. And you will never be anyone's hero."

* * *

England waited alone in his cell, wondering what had become of America. He held on to the faint hope that Panem had not killed the boy, that he would be all right, although he knew it was a selfish thought.

_"If America stays alive, then all that awaits him is torture. Perhaps, yes, there is a chance of escape, but I do not see much likelihood that we will succeed in such an endeavor. Oh, Alfred, why did you come…?"_

The blonde man sighed, looking down at the cold, metallic floor below him, and shivering slightly. For some unknown reason, Panem had not seen fit to restore his shirt to him after the torture session had ended. England was not certain why this was, but he assumed it was an attempt to humiliate him. He refused to be humiliated by someone like Panem, and, so, he pretended that he was wearing a shirt and a warm jacket, although the cold of the cell made it hard to keep up the illusion.

_"Who would have thought that nations would be held prisoner and tortured by one of our own?"_

Thinking back, however, he realized that this had happened before, many times, in the course of history.

_"But never before have we been so vulnerable. Never before have nations been murdered in such a way."_

There was a quiet squeaking noise, and, suddenly, England found himself blinking in the unexpectedly bright light from the hallway, as the door swung open, revealing none other than America, accompanied by two soldiers.

England said nothing, merely waited in silence until the door swung shut behind America, who was staring at him.

"You're an idiot," England said at last.

"Thanks for the warm welcome," America retorted, "I was trying to help you, you know."

"You're doing a pretty poor job of it," England informed him. He felt slightly guilty, however, when America's cocky smile faltered.

_"He's so obsessed with being the hero… What happens if he can't save everyone?"_

"Yeah, I know," America said, looking down, his blue eyes clouded with an emotion England had never seen in him before.

There was a long pause, and then, hesitantly, England patted the spot next to him on the floor.

"You might as well sit down. Unless you're planning to leave, that is…"

"Nah," America said, coming over to England, "I guess I'm staying in here until… Whenever Panem wants to mess with my head again, I guess."

The blonde boy sat down heavily, and, looking closer at him, England could distinguish the emotion in America's eyes as barely suppressed anguish.

"I don't know what that woman told you…" England began, but America cut him off.

"I'm fine, Iggy," America said, "I don't believe anything she said."

England didn't believe him, and he was sure that America knew he did not. But he said nothing, merely watched America as the boy stared unblinking at the floor. His eyes, usually so bright, were vacant and far away.

"We'll be all right," England said, half to himself.

"I know that," America said, "You don't have to reassure me. I'm not a kid anymore, you know."

Despite America's words, when England looked at the boy, all he could think was that despite his height and physical appearance, America had never grown up. And now, they were in a terrible situation, one that would probably lead to their deaths.

_"What will become of him and any other children here? Children should not be imprisoned like this. But…how many more will be?"_

* * *

_No matter how hard he tried not to, it seemed he always ended up hurting someone. Even in dreams._

_He knew it was a dream, but he also knew that the dream was horrifically real, and that it had happened. _

_Lithuania-of course, it had to be him, no one else ever seemed to haunt Russia with any frequency-was kneeling on the ground, sobbing, begging for… For mercy, Russia presumed, considering that the past Russia in his dream was brandishing a bloodstained pipe._

_It was always this way in dreams. He saw the memory through his own eyes, but could not make his dream self act differently than he had in life._

_Lithuania was screaming, although it was clear that the dream Russia had stopped hurting him. Russia wondered briefly what had happened, and then, remembered all at once._

"Da, he does not stop screaming, and then I get the gun…"

_His dream self had gone to get the gun, as if anticipating his thoughts. _

_"Stay still, little one," said his dream self, pressing the gun to Lithuania's head, "It will not hurt much."_

"No! Do not shoot him! He is already hurt enough! "

_The thought exploded in Russia's head, but, of course, it had no effect on the ghostly apparitions that were his and Lithuania's past selves. _

_Lithuania was laughing, a quiet, maddened noise intermingled with his sobs. The dream Russia was unnerved, and the real Russia was even more so. But he could not seem to wake up, nor could he look away._

_Russia could only watch as his dream self pressed the gun against Lithuania's head. None of his silent pleas had any effect on the inmates of his dreamworld._

_But after Lithuania reached up and pulled the trigger, of course, Russia was finally able to end the dream, but only in a blinding, painful wave of memories._

He woke up begging Lithuania not to die.

Russia had feared the return of his memories in the form of dreams. He had hoped and prayed for many years that, if anything, he would not have nightmares of the past anymore, especially not here, where the others would see and worry.

He had reasoned with himself that he had not had nightmares much of late, although he knew it was a lie. Even now, he had nightmares. And he feared that his dreams would soon contain events that had just taken place. He did not want to relive the death of his older sister.

But when he woke in the night, sobbing and trying not to scream aloud, it was not the moment in which he had lost Ukraine that haunted him.

Yes, now that he had thought of it, it had come to his mind, and he could see her face just before she vanished under a ton of rubble…

But this was not what he had dreamed of.

_"I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me, Mr. Russia!"_

Lithuania's voice, haunting him in the darkness as it always seemed to.

Russia sighed, curling closer to the wall, and feeling terribly alone in the half-darkness that came before morning.

And there was that voice, no longer in his dreams, and no longer agonized, but instead, worried.

"Mr. Russia? Are you okay?"

"I have told you to always call me Ivan," Russia said blankly, so caught up in his nightmare that he barely registered that this Lithuania was not the past one he had dreamed of.

He realized that he was no longer dreaming, however, when he saw Lithuania visibly stiffen. Even in the insufficient, grey light of the early morning, Russia could see fear on the brunet Baltic's face.

"What did you dream about?"Lithuania asked, very quietly.

_"I don't want you to hurt me anymore! Kill me, right now, or leave me alone!" _

The voice of the past Lithuania would not go away, although Russia ordered it to.

"You died," Russia informed the Lithuania who inhabited the present day, "That is what I was having the dreams of."

"Oh," said Lithuania, "Was it… Was it something real, Ivan?"

"D-da," Russia said, "You… No, you should not be remembering that."

"I always remember," Lithuania said with a sad smile, "I remember everything, so… If you want to talk to me, you can. You know I can bear it."

"I dreamed of you laughing," Russia said, "While you were dying, you were laughing."

"So it was that time," Lithuania said, "I thought it might be. It was… I shot myself."

"You did," Russia said quietly, looking down, "This is why I am not being a good friend. I made you do that."

Lithuania sighed.

"Russia… We have much worse things to deal with now than the matter of…of our past."

"_Litv-_ Lithuania?" Russia asked, "Why do we still remember?"

"Because we can't ever let ourselves forget," Lithuania said, "It's not human nature to forget a wrong done. We have some sort of…odd instinct…that makes us remember the bad and forget the good. It's horrible, but… There's nothing we can do about it."

And then, his face barely visible in the dim, half-lit room, Lithuania smiled.

"I'm not affected by what happened," he said cheerfully, "You know, all those incidents in the past? It's the past, Ivan. We have a future-or, at least, we have to fight so that we can have a future. So, forget about those dreams. I'm going to go buy breakfast. Want to come?"

"No, little one," Russia said, barely noticing that he had slipped back into calling the Lithuanian boy by one of his many pet names, "You may be going on."

Lithuania hesitated, but, then, he nodded, and turned away, leaving Russia staring down at his gloved hands.

"Sunshine eyes," he said absentmindedly, "You have them again… But I remember when you lost your sunshine eyes, Lithuania. And I will never, ever be forgetting. Because I am wanting be sure you never again act with so much of the craziness as to believe you wish to die."

* * *

**OK, now I have a ton of stuff to say. **

**First of all, as to the fact that, clearly, America was not the world's best big brother to Panem. While I feel he would have tried to raise her well, I also feel that he's another one of the nations who never fully grew up. Therefore, although he would have tried to be a good brother, he probably would not have realized exactly how much work needed to be put into raising a child. This is not to say that he neglected Panem, but that he did not spend the kind of time just talking to her or hanging out that most young girls need. He tried, but he was too proud to ask England for help, although he secretly knew that he needed it. **

**Secondly, as some of you probably already know, Russia's dream is based on actual events in my "Soviet Insanity" series. For clarification, as not everyone has read "Soviet Insanity" and Russia's dream was slightly confusing... When Lithuania lived in Russia's house, circumstances led to him eventually going mad and becoming increasingly suicidal. After a failed escape attempt, he was recaptured by Russia and punished, leading to the scene that Russia dreamed of. This was also around the time that Russia noticed that Lithuania had lost the sunlight in his eyes. **

**Thirdly, I'll probably be focusing on Russia's group a little more in the next chapters, although, of course, the others will get plenty of POVs. And in a few chapters, I'll have them all in the right places, so that I can follow my outline a lot more closely and know a bit more about what I'm doing. :)**


	9. Flames

**OK, so, I lied. Russia's group gets most of the spotlight starting next chapter. (I think?) So, I have misinformed you, but they really will get to do things starting next time. For now, only Lithuania does anything in this chapter, out of that group.**

**So, with that said... Here is a chapter.**

* * *

Chapter Nine: Flames

As Lithuania made his way down the surprisingly packed streets, he began to wonder if something had taken place during the night. There seemed to be people everywhere, discussing everything from the new government to where they had gotten the shoes on their feet. This was not abnormal, of course, but there seemed to be even more people out than usual.

A large crowd had gathered in the main square of the town, apparently watching something on the large screens and displaying great interest in whatever the news might be. Cautiously, Lithuania made his way to the outskirts of the crowd, where he too could watch the broadcast. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary news report… But then, a new report began broadcasting, and Lithuania was transported back to a mere six days ago, when they had first begun to fear for their lives.

"The attempt to deal with certain persons dangerous to our government has been only partly successful," the newscaster reported, "Although a good number have been put out of the way, many are still at large. Citizens are cautioned to be wary of anyone resembling the following persons, and to report anyone suspicious to the authorities at the first possible opportunity.

Faces began flashing across the screen, and Lithuania knew nearly every one of the people pictured there. Both of the Italy brothers-no surprise, as they had fled the catastrophe almost before it began-, Japan, Germany, Canada, France… The list went on, but Lithuania saw none of the faces he had hoped desperately to see, although he did see himself and his companions staring back at him.

_"No Estonia, no Latvia… Not even America… And no Poland either… My God, is _anyone_ I knew still out there and alive?"_

When the broadcast finally ended, returning to regular news, people began to wander away. However, Lithuania remained staring at the screen, almost hoping that there were a few names that had been left out.

_"Please, _please_, tell me they're alive. Eduard and Raivis can't die… They're too young. Feliks can't be dead, Alfred can't be dead… They're not dead, are they? Please…"_

"Hey, Mister?" said a child's voice behind him.

Lithuania turned, and saw a child watching him. It was a young girl-around Latvia's age, Lithuania thought-and she reminded him again of what he had failed to protect.

"Yes?" Lithuania asked, smiling at her.

"You look sad," the girl informed him, "Even when you smile. Why?"

"I'm looking for someone," Lithuania told her, "But I don't know where the people I want to find are, or even if they're alive."

"Hope you have better luck than me," the girl said, "I haven't seen my family, and I've been looking too. Is it your family you want to find?"

"My brothers," Lithuania said, "And my friends."

"How long you been missing them?"

"Only a little while," Lithuania sighed, "But it feels like a lifetime, not even knowing where they are."

"I see," the girl said, "Hope you find them, then."

"Same to you," Lithuania said, "Keep looking. I'm sure you'll find your family."

"Yeah, you too," the girl said, "Say, those soldiers seem a little interested in you…"

Lithuania glanced around, and located a group of soldiers standing a short distance away, watching him.

"So they do," he agreed, "I'd best be off before they convict me as a criminal, then."

"You're one of the people they want to kill, aren't you?" the girl whispered, "You look just like one of the men they showed up there."

"Run away," Lithuania said, not wanting to answer, and suddenly afraid for the girl's safety, "Believe me, little girl… You don't want to get mixed up in this."

He turned away, but stopped when the girl grabbed his sleeve, stopping him.

"There's a bakery three blocks from here," she whispered, "The man who owns it is nice, so if you're out looking for food… He won't turn you in to the police, and he will give you food."

"Thank you," Lithuania said, "I'll remember it."

The girl nodded, and then she was gone, her short, blonde hair flying in the wind.

"Please let her have better luck than I," Lithuania whispered, not really praying so much as simply begging, "She's just a little girl, and there are too many dead… Among humans, as well as nations… And there will always be more… Is it too much to ask that that one little girl find her family?"

He did not know why he cared, why he felt so desperate to see that girl reunited with her family. He only knew that he hated to see children suffer. And although he did not know the girl's name, he hoped desperately that she would have stroke of luck.

"My little brothers are dead," he whispered, not really knowing that it was true, not wanting to believe it, but beginning to feel reconciled to it, "Poland is dead. A-all my friends a-are dead, except a few who are s-still here with me. Let the little girl have the future that my friends won't... Please…"

* * *

Canada cried alone, silent and unnoticed even by France. He wondered vaguely if the other nation was as sad as he was about what had happened. He almost hoped that France was not affected, such was the pain that blonde boy felt now.

It hurt _too much_, lying there in the early hours of the morning, and thinking about the fact that for all he knew, England and America could be under torture or dead at this very moment.

"Why wasn't I taken?" Canada whispered, knowing that France would not hear him, "I-it's not like anyone would miss me…"

He began to sob quietly, his voice breaking as he thought of America, his brother, and of England, who had, from time to time, been kind to him.

"N-no one deserves this…" Canada whispered, "Least of all them… Why not me? W-why can't I… Why can't I help?"

He glanced over at France, who was lying asleep on the floor, and was relieved to see that the older nation was still asleep. Although he longed for comfort now, Canada did not want to take the risk of France seeing right through him when he awoke. And he also did not want the older man to worry. So he would not wake him.

"I would have gone with you, America," he whispered, "M-maybe I could have been smart enough to help you save England. I c-could have gone in alone, and they wouldn't even have seen me… Just once, maybe my invisibility would have been of some use… But… Now you're gone. A-America... England… Come home. I w-want you to be safe… I want… I want my brother back…"

"Mathieu," someone murmured, "You could not have stopped him. You understand zat, don't you?"

"P-please don't talk to me, France…" Canada whispered.

"You need to stop crying," France said softly, "Canada, you're smart… You know it wasn't your fault."

"I'm invisible," Canada said, "I probably could have used that to work in our favor."

"I would not risk your life on ze gamble of your invisibility," France said, "America and England would not want you to, either."

"Then you'll make me stay here?" Canada asked, "You won't let me go?"

France sighed, his pain evident in his blue eyes.

"I do not want to lose you, Mathieu," he said, "Perhaps it is selfish of me. But… You are ze only one left, and I promised…"

"What did you promise?" Canada asked.

"I promised England zat I would protect you and America," France said, "But… It seems I have already failed. I…should have protected America…and now he's probably…dead…"

Canada could only stare in silence at France, who was sobbing openly, his head in his hands.

"If you couldn't save him…" Canada said, "Then… How could anyone else? He's America, he's stubborn and he's…a bit of an idiot… He wouldn't listen to you or to me. It's not your fault, France…"

Canada leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the sobbing France.

_"Why does it have to end like this? Is it going to get worse? Why can't I be useful… Why can't I be like America? Why can't I save someone? At least America tried…"_

* * *

England hated not healing. He was so used to waking up in the morning with his injuries fully healed that it was terrifying to wake up and find himself still in pain.

It was even worse, however, when they came to take him away again. He knew it would be torture, knew it would hurt even more than it had before, and he saw in America's eyes that the boy also knew what was in store.

"Come on, Panem," America said, a pleading note in his voice, "There's no reason for you to hurt him!"

"There most certainly is," Panem said, smirking, "He's a criminal."

"We're not criminals!" America retorted, "We're the good guys!"

"America," England said, standing up, "Don't fight her. There's no reason to."

America stared at him desperately, and England thought that he saw a hint of tears in the boy's eyes.

"I'll be fine," he said, smiling at America, "I promise."

He knew immediately that it was a foolish promise, but he also knew that he would have to try to stay alive, for his brother's sake.

America let Panem take him away, and England did not particularly mind, for as long as America was in that cell, he was comparatively safe, and that was all that mattered. It was only when they arrived in what looked suspiciously like a mad scientist's lab that he started to feel slightly on edge.

"Would you mind telling me what you're going to do to me?" he asked, carefully to keep his voice cold.

"I can't tell you," Panem said, "That would take away the fun!"

She smiled at him, a frightening gesture.

"I will tell you, however, that it involves you lying down on that table."

_"Lovely. I'm going to be experimented on."_

His horror must have been reflected on his face, because, unexpectedly, Panem laughed.

"I'm not going to cut you open, if that's what you're afraid of," she said, "Just lie down already!"

England glared at her, his eyes narrowing.

"I won't get on that table until you tell me what you're going to do," he said.

"As you wish," Panem said carelessly, "I can always force you to get up there."

She nodded to her bodyguards, who had been standing behind England, probably waiting for this very moment. England tensed, vowing not to give in without a fight, and then bolted for the half-open door.

However, his small frame was a disadvantage to him now, as it meant that even the equally slight Panem could bowl him over simply because of her inhuman strength.

"Don't try it," Panem said, smiling sweetly down at the now-captured England, "You wouldn't leave America, even if you could get away."

England said nothing, not wanting to give the girl the satisfaction of knowing she was right. Even if he were fast enough to escape on his own, he would not leave America imprisoned there, alone.

Panem's guards were behind her now, and as she climbed off of England, they grabbed his arms, pulling him up onto his feet.

England struggled, slightly panicked, but he could do nothing to stop the guards from pulling him over to the table.

They slammed him down on the cold, metal table, and England gasped as his injured back met the hard surface.

One of the guards held him down, while the other fastened his arms and legs in restraints. It was then that England became absolutely certain that this was a torture session, for why else would they restrain him in such a way?

Once the guards moved away, England was able to see Panem again. The girl stood nearby, smiling, and flicking a lighter on and off.

"I have to say this isn't very violent," she commented, "But, you know what? You wouldn't be able to survive anything very violent, with your build and physical health. Someone like America, now… I could do almost anything to him, and he would be able to survive. You chose a far too vulnerable human form, England."

She smiled, flicking the lighter on again, and England knew, then, that she was going to do something that would involve burning him. How badly and for how long, he did not know, but he feared fire as he did few other things, and he began to struggle again, trying futilely to escape.

"What's the matter, England?" Panem asked, coming over to him, "Are you afraid?"

England cursed, still struggling, hating the way Panem smiled at him.

"Better not make too much fuss," the girl said, nodding toward a clear partition that separated this room from the next one over, "Look who's watching."

England looked over, and instantly stopped moving. America stood in the room opposite, his hands pressed to the clear wall. He was evidently shouting something, but England could not tell what, and, suddenly, he realized that this was a torture session meant not just for him, but for both of them.

_"Of course. America absolutely must save everyone. If he can't do that, if he is forced to watch helplessly…"_

"You'll drive him insane," England said, looking up at Panem, "You will destroy him if you make him watch. How can you do that to your brother?!"

"It's simple, really," Panem said.

She paused, and then, she grinned at England.

"I _want_ to destroy him."

Panem flicked the lighter on, and then, slowly, agonizingly, she brought it down so that it was just above England's chest. For a moment, she paused, a maddened, thrilled light in her eyes.

Then England's world changed to one of pain and fire.

* * *

On the other side of the wall, America stood alone, screaming and begging, although by this time he had realized that no one could hear him.

"Stop it!" the boy screamed, kicking futilely at the wall that held him prisoner, "You'll kill him! He doesn't like fire!"

America had to wonder, then, how he knew that England did not like fire. But then, he remembered that when he was a small child, he had taken a burning stick from the fireplace and carried it around with him, pretending it was his weapon. England had found him quickly and, taking the stick from him, had hurled it back into the fireplace, his eyes reflecting an emotion America had seldom seen in his guardian before.

He realized now that England had been afraid of the flames, and although he did not know why, America knew that England would still be afraid.

He could see that same fear in the older nation's eyes as he looked through the window, and he feared what might happen if England were tortured in this way for very long.

"Panem!" America shrieked, "Leave my brother alone!"

His screams went unheard, and as the flames ate deeper into England's chest, America could only watch helplessly.

On the other side of the wall, Panem was laughing.

* * *

**Yes, I do have an odd belief that England is afraid of fire. Do not ask why. I have no idea why I think that, it just feels...like he should be afraid of fire. I don't know why. **

**And... No Estonia and Latvia _again_ this chapter... I'm sorry. They'll be back first thing next chapter. I can promise that. **

**(Also, having only one major antagonist does slow things down slightly, as Panem can only be in one place at a time. (I suppose I could just send the soldiers to do things, but what fun is that?) However, things are going to start moving along more quickly really soon. :) )**

**Now, I'm about to be pulled out the door bodily without posting this if I don't post it in the next two minutes, so I have to run! *runs off* **


	10. Confusion

Chapter Ten: Confusion

Estonia woke up to feel an unexpected pressure on his still injured back. Frightened, the boy attempted to struggle free, only to stop dead when whatever was on top of him let out a surprised squeak.

"Latvia…" Estonia said, sighing, "What are you doing?"

"Um…" Latvia hummed, looking thoughtful, "I'm not sleeping anymore… So, nothing."

"Try not to fall asleep on top of me, okay?" Estonia said.

Latvia nodded and sat up quickly, allowing Estonia to sit up as well.

"Exactly where did my shirt get to?" Estonia asked.

Latvia shrugged.

"I think it's on the floor. But, guess what I found!"

The boy jumped off the bed, and, running over to a small dresser, produced what looked suspiciously like new clothes.

"There are shoes and everything in here!" Latvia announced, "Isn't that cool?"

"We can't just take the clothes without permission," Estonia said, "We'll get into trouble."

He paused, considering the situation.

"Then again… Why would there be clothes in here if we _weren't_ allowed to wear them?"

Latvia blinked up at him, looking hopeful. The smaller boy's clothes were tattered and rather dirty, and, in that moment, Estonia decided that it did not matter. Panem would not physically harm Latvia, anyways, and as long as the boy was safe, Estonia did not care what the consequences to himself might be.

"Go put on some new clothes," he told Latvia, who grinned and, grabbing the clothes, ran into the bathroom to change.

Once Latvia was safely in the bathroom, Estonia buried his head in his hands, shaking.

"This is too much…" he whispered, "It's just too much… Why give prisoners new clothes…? What's going on? Does she want to kill us or not? I'm so confused…"

Estonia's eyes narrowed in concentration as he attempted to put together the pieces, drawing on his own memories of his own rather traumatic past in an attempt to understand what was happening.

"Panem is alone. She has only humans to speak to, and in order to conceal her identity as Panem's personification, she will eventually have to sever her ties with them. Yes, yes, it makes sense! She wants…"

Estonia's eyes widened.

"She's alone," he repeated, "That psychopath is alone, and she doesn't want to be… So, she…"

He glanced toward the closed bathroom door.

"She knows she can't win me over, so… How on earth does she plan to…?"

Estonia shook his head, sighing.

"This is too confusing. No normal person, when lonely, kidnaps two teenagers in order to get companionship."

"Eddy?" someone asked, "Why are you talking to yourself?"

"I do not believe that my name is Eddy," Estonia said, "And I am completely confused, Latvia. _That_ is why I'm talking to myself."

"Oh," Latvia said, "Um… Is Panem _really_ lonely? I mean, it would kind of make sense… Since Mr. Russia was lonely and he kind of kidnapped us… Would that mean…?"

"I don't know anymore, Lati," Estonia said, shaking his head, "I have no idea. Maybe Panem _is_ lonely. Maybe she's just a psychopath, and wants to play with our minds for a while before she kills us. I don't know… I just don't know…"

* * *

They returned America to the cell alone. He had no idea what would be done to England now that he was no longer watching, and he was afraid of what might happen to the older man, although, of course, he was not about to admit that.

But, America realized, by screaming and begging for Panem to stop hurting England, he _had_ admitted it. He had shown her his weakness.

Not that England was the only person who would provoke that reaction in him. Torture Japan, Lithuania, France, or, God forbid, Canada, and it would be the same. America could not bear to see his friends tortured, and now, it was extremely upsetting to think about the fact that he had let Panem hurt England.

_"I'm supposed to be the freaking hero here. Heroes do _not_ just sit there and let psycho people set their friends on fire."_

"She set England on fire…" America whispered, "My sister's gone completely crazy…"

And he knew it was his fault. _He_ had been the one to drive Panem mad. _He_ had ignored her when she needed him to love her. _He_ had destroyed this girl, this child of merely sixteen. _He_ had driven her to this.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it except sit in the corner of his cell and try not to cry, waiting for England to return, waiting for anyone to come, so that he would not be alone.

Because, although he always acted as if he were, in fact, the confident hero… Even heroes need a companion. And in that dark cell, America felt hopelessly alone and helpless against Panem.

For the first time in his life, America found himself wishing for someone else to take up the title 'hero', for someone else to save them all.

_"Because heroes aren't self-centered, so I'm not a hero… Heroes adopt kids and take good care of them… Heroes save their friends… Maybe Panem's right… Maybe I'm not a hero, after all."_

* * *

When Lithuania returned to the hideout, he found the others awaiting his return.

"I was starting to get worried about you, aru!" China announced, "Tell us next time you wander off like that!"

"Didn't Russia tell you where I was?" Lithuania asked.

China looked surprised.

"I thought he was with you. When Belarus and I woke up, he was gone, and so were you."

"Oh, no…" Lithuania gasped, "Where could he have gone?"

"He _isn't_ with you?" China asked, sounding as panicked as Lithuania felt.

"You're supposed to take care of my brother!" Belarus snapped, "He likes you, so take care of him!"

"H-he told me he was staying here!" Lithuania whispered, "I don't know where he is!"

"And whose fault is that?" Belarus snarled.

"Belarus! Stop it, aru!"

China grabbed the girl's arm, but she shook the petite nation off, advancing on Lithuania, who stood still, shaking, and bracing himself for whatever the girl would do to him.

Belarus slapped him in the face, and then, she turned away quickly, leaving Lithuania gasping and rubbing at his stinging cheek.

"Go find my brother," she said, "Your new job is taking care of him, since you're good for nothing else."

"Y-yes, Miss Belarus," Lithuania said quietly, keeping his head bowed, "I'll do that now."

_"Why do you hate me…? What did I do wrong…?"_

He turned away, and, suddenly, China was there, his honey-colored eyes flashing.

"You don't have to do what she says if you don't want to!" China declared, "You don't belong to her or to Russia, aru!"

_"My heart belongs to her, and she _broke it_," _he thought, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, but unable to deny his own thoughts.

"It's fine, China," Lithuania said, "I don't mind."

He smiled, and then hurried on. It was only once he was outside that Lithuania paused, trying not to burst into tears. His efforts were in vain, and, a moment later, he began sobbing uncontrollably.

"I don't know where Russia is!" he sobbed, "I don't even know how to find him! P-please don't blame me… I… W-why do you hate me, Belarus? Please tell me why!"

"_Lit_…_va_?"

Lithuania stiffened, and then, he remembered where he was.

_"There's only one person who calls me _Litva_, and that's…"_

"Russia!" the brunet boy shouted, leaping up, "Don't ever run away like that again!"

Russia looked surprised.

"I have only been gone for some short time…"

The taller nation frowned, his violet eyes meeting Lithuania's.

"Who has been hitting you?" he asked.

"W-what are you talking about?" Lithuania asked, rubbing his cheek. It actually did still hurt, but he did not plan on telling Russia that.

"Someone hit you," Russia said, "Your face looks to be of the hurtness."

"Oh, that," Lithuania said, laughing with a carefree air that he did not actually possess, "Um…"

"Tell me, little one," Russia said, sounding almost menacing. Lithuania was frightened by his tone, and so, he tried to explain.

"Belarus was angry with me because I'm supposed to take care of you, and you ran away," the brunet Baltic said, looking away, "She hit me."

Russia's eyes narrowed to angry, violet slits.

"It is probably much of the stupidity for me of all people to say this," he said, "But she needs to be stopping with the hurting you. I… I thought she liked you?"

"I did too," Lithuania said, feeling his tears threaten to spill over yet again, "But then, she…"

"Did I do that?" Russia asked, "Did I make her no longer be liking you?"

The sheer volume of the pain in Russia's eyes made Lithuania certain that even if it had been the other nation's fault, he would not have told him so.

"No, Russia…" Lithuania said, "I think it was something I did… But I…I still don't know what."

He was crying again. He knew he must not cry in front of Russia, knew that he must make sure that the other nation stayed calm… But it hurt, and although it seemed almost silly to cry over Belarus when the world had ended, it was not only for that reason that he cried. He cried for Estonia and Latvia, whom he believed were dead, for Poland and America, and for Ukraine and for the others, whom he_ knew_ were already dead.

Someone picked him up, and he struggled, frightened.

"Stop with that struggling, silly Lithuania," Russia said, "We are going inside."

Lithuania had no chance to protest, as Russia had already marched through the doorway, carrying him along as well.

"Belarus!" Russia snapped, "You will be coming here at this time!"

"Russia…" Lithuania sobbed, panicked, "Russia, calm down!"

"I am fine, little one," Russia said, setting Lithuania down. "You will be staying there, da?"

At this point, Belarus and China had joined them.

"What's wrong, big brother?" Belarus asked, sounding almost innocent.

"You," Russia said, glaring at her, "Are not having any more right to hurt Lithuania than I do. Neither of us are having the right to abuse _anyone_. At one point, little sister, you tried to convince me of this thing. Now,_ I_ will tell _you_. Lithuania is not to be hurt in any way."

"I-it's okay…" Lithuania stammered, "I d-don't mind, you k-know."

"Hush, aru," China said, "It doesn't matter if you mind or not. Russia is doing something about it, and if he doesn't fix this, I will!"

Lithuania began to shake, his mind racing.

_"All my fault, all my fault… It's my fault they're fighting… Oh, the world is ending… We have bigger problems than whether or not Belarus slapping me was the right thing to do…"_

Belarus glared at Russia for a long moment, and Lithuania began to cry again, silently this time.

"Fine," Belarus said finally, "But he's still good for nothing, and even he knows it. Why do you still like him, brother?"

"Because he is _sane_!" Russia declared.

Apparently, Belarus did not agree with this statement, as she immediately turned and marched off, after shooting a glare in Lithuania's direction.

Lithuania was still shaking, still crying, his head bowed in an attempt to disguise his tears.

"Russia, aru," China said, "You need breakfast. I think it's in the other room, isn't it, Lithuania?"

Lithuania nodded tearfully, and, to his relief, Russia left.

The moment the other nation was safely out of earshot, Lithuania began to cry aloud, his body shaking with sobs.

Somehow, he had forgotten that China was there, but a moment later, the older nation was crouching next to him, his eyes wide.

"Lithuania… It's all right, aru," China said, "She's not going to hurt you. Russia and I won't let her."

"I d-don't care if she hurts me!" Lithuania sobbed, "Don't you understand?"

"No…" China said slowly, "I don't."

"All that matters is that everyone else is safe," Lithuania whispered, "And… No one is safe. Ukraine is dead. Many others are probably dead too. My brothers are probably dead!"

His voice had risen to an agonized wail, and he could see that China was surprised to see him like this, on the point of total hysteria.

"But we are alive…" said a voice that unmistakably belonged to Russia, "We are still alive, little one."

Russia knelt on the other side of Lithuania and began stroking the brunet nation's hair.

"You and me and Belarus and China are alive," Russia said quietly, "So… You will stop your crying, da?"

"We're all going to be fine, aru!" China declared emphatically, "We're going to be fine!"

Kneeling on the floor between the two other nations, Lithuania almost felt comforted. But he could not feel happy, because every time he closed his eyes, he found himself imagining the possibility that Estonia and Latvia, Poland and America, and all the others he cared for… He thought of how painful their final moments must have been, if they were dead now.

And he could not stop himself from crying, although he knew that it would worry Russia, although he knew that China had no idea what had driven him to hysterics. He himself barely knew the reason for his tears.

He only knew that nothing would ever be the same, that many of the nations he had known for centuries were dead.

And to think of that hurt more than any physical pain that could ever have been inflicted upon him.

* * *

Unseen by the others, Belarus watched from the doorway. The girl could see the tears on Lithuania's face, could see how much he was shaking…

And she felt guilty.

Unable to look on any longer, she turned and walked away, up to the roof of the building they were staying in.

Standing on the roof, Belarus looked up at the cloudless sky, wondering how the sun could shine on, even in this dark time.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "Really, I believed you would get over it, over your stupid crush on me. You really are an idiot, Toris."

Belarus winced, remembering the way Lithuania's voice had broken as he tried to reassure China that he was completely fine. The way he had turned away, shaking, to do her bidding.

_"I had to slap you. Don't you understand? I have to remain in character.I didn't even hit you that hard… Oh, I hate this stupid role-playing game… I don't like Belarus's role anymore. I want a new part in the play."_

But the part she wanted, she had sworn she would never have. In darkness and in fear, in a mansion that was forever locked in winter, she had sworn it. She had locked away a future she felt certain would kill a certain boy, and she had sworn never to even think of what that future might have been.

_"But _I _should be comforting him, not Russia and China! I… I once decided to protect him, and then…"_

Belarus flinched, realizing that she had subconsciously taken her knife out of her pocket.

_"Blood and pain and he blamed himself… And I was aiming for Russia, but of course, _of course_, Lithuania had to get in the way… And he looked so hurt and said he had to die… He's the last person that deserves to die, and even now… You made him cry."_

"It's for the best," she said aloud, "He only cares too much. That's all. He can't possibly…"

Belarus glared up at the sky, still infuriatingly blue.

"He doesn't still love me!" she muttered, "He doesn't! He's just being an idiot, that's all! I…I swore I would never let myself hurt him, and I meant it! Doesn't anyone understand?! I'm only playing this part so that I will never hurt him that badly again!"

_"So…much…blood."_

She remembered it vividly, even after all this time, and thinking back, she knew why she had made what sometimes seemed like a foolish choice.

_"No killing… Please… I hate it when people get hurt… When they die… The only person who needs to die…is me. Because…I don't want to live…anymore."_

His words in her head. His blood, _still_ on her hands decades after the fact.

"I murdered him," Belarus announced to the impossibly cheerful sky, "I murdered Lithuania. And _that _is why I will never, ever, play Natalya's part again."

She paused, sighing.

"Belarus is too frightening. But what can I do about her? At least she hasn't murdered anyone… Natalya was the one who murdered someone… So, Belarus is actually the safe one… Even if…"

Her voice broke, and as she struggled to recover her composure, a single tear fell onto the stone roof.

"Even if Belarus slaps Lithuania and breaks his fingers… She doesn't murder him…or hurt him… At least not the way Natalya did Toris."

* * *

When England was returned to his cell, his chest throbbing and charred, he found America waiting for him.

The blonde boy was sitting in the corner of the cell, and he barely looked up as the guards thrust England into the cell. However, the moment the cell door shut, America flung himself at England.

"Iggy!" America shouted, and England had to pretend very hard that he did not hear the sadness and pain in the younger boy's voice, because hearing pain where there had once been an oblivious happiness frightened him.

"Hello, America," England said, sighing. He was tired, and although he wanted to stand up, wanted to pretend everything was okay, he did not have the energy.

"I'm so sorry!" America sobbed, "I'm sorry Panem tortured you, and…"

America wrapped his arms around England, nearly crushing the smaller man. England gasped and gritted his teeth, trying not to scream in pain as his burned chest was nearly crushed by the overly enthusiastic America.

"It's all right," he said, patting America's back in what he hoped was a comforting manner, "It's not your fault. She's only a psychopath, and I've seen plenty of those in my time. We're going to get out of here, Alfred. She's only a psychopath. She can be beaten."

* * *

**I have to say that I don't particularly like this chapter. But it's necessary for a transition to next time, so... Here it is. I'm going to go sleep now, as I haven't gotten to sleep at a decent hour since Tuesday... **


	11. Sorrow

**Well, to state the obvious, this is a chapter.**

**To state the not-yet-obvious, this chapter will focus exclusively on Russia's group. Well...every part of that group except for Russia himself. You'll understand why in a moment.**

**Also, after this chapter, I'll have most of the characters exactly where I want them, and the story will start progressing a little faster. I think so, anyways. This is the last chapter I've written in advance, so I'm going to have to write the next one over the next week. We'll see what happens then. **

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Sorrow

Lithuania awoke early the next morning, only to find Russia gone again. For a moment, he felt panic rising inside of him again. But then, he remembered the day before, and knew that he could not allow himself to succumb to hysteria yet again.

And, so, he looked around, hoping to find some clue as to where Russia might have gone.

And there was a scrap of paper next to him on the ground.

Lithuania picked it up and, unfolding it, read it aloud.

"I will be going to do some of the walking at this time," the boy murmured, unconsciously imagining the words in Russia's voice, "I will come back later. Do not worry, and tell Belarus not to be worrying either."

Lithuania sighed.

"Come back safe, Russia," he murmured, as his eyes fell upon the other nation's signature, "Don't get hurt."

"He's gone again?"

China sat up from where he had been asleep next to Lithuania, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Yes," Lithuania said quietly, "But he'll be back."

China read the note quickly, his eyes scanning the paper. Then, he nodded.

"I would do the same thing if I thought I could, aru," he admitted, "But I'm used to responsibility, so I can't just wander off."

"It will be all right if you do, you know," Lithuania said, "Everyone needs to get out sometimes."

"And I would come back and find you lying in a pool of blood with Belarus's knife in your chest, aru," China commented, "No, I can't go off like Russia does. I can't trust that woman if she's alone with you."

"Once upon a time, she didn't hate me," Lithuania said, "She held my hand…and that time, she didn't break my fingers."

"What happened?" China asked. Then, he looked away, sighing.

"You don't have to tell me," he said quietly, "I probably wouldn't tell you if it was me."

"No, it's fine," Lithuania said, "I… I have no idea what happened, China. I only know that…that she hates me now. But once…I think… I think she loved me."

His voice had broken again, and he cursed himself for being so weak, for still allowing himself to break after all this time away from the hell that was Russia's icy mansion.

"Loved you?" said a voice from the doorway, "Isn't that sweet?"

The voice did not belong to Russia, nor did it belong to anyone Lithuania knew to be friendly.

Slowly, the boy looked up, feeling China stiffen next to him as the older man identified the possible threat.

"Love is a lie," said Panem with a surprisingly bitter laugh, "All it does is break your heart. I think you know that, don't you?"

Lithuania felt a chill go down his spine.

_"She's found us. We are going to die…"_

* * *

China stared at Panem, feeling Lithuania begin to shake. They were sitting so close to each other that it felt as if every tremor of the Baltic boy's body was China's own fear, translated into an uncontrollable shaking.

"Don't let her scare you," China whispered, "She's not that creepy, aru!"

"Oh, really?" Panem asked, "Are you sure about that, China? I think you'll find me very creepy indeed."

China glared at her, and, inexplicably, he found himself holding Lithuania's hand in a tight grip.

_"I don't even know him that well! Why am I…? Well, we are going to die. I suppose it doesn't matter."_

"Stand up," Panem said, "Just you, not Lithuania."

"Do what she says," Lithuania whispered, his voice pleading, "She'll kill you if you don't."

China hesitated for a brief moment, but when he looked over at Lithuania, he saw the pain in the younger nation's eyes, and realized that if at all possible, he must not let himself be shot down in front of this boy, who had already seen too much.

China nodded, and then, giving Lithuania's hand one last squeeze, he stood up.

"Wake up the girl," Panem ordered, gesturing to Belarus, who was still asleep in the corner, "And do it now, or I'll shoot you."

In that moment, China almost refused, almost allowed himself to believe that it would be better if Panem shot him, if she ended his life quickly. But then, looking over at Lithuania again, he could not do it. He had never liked seeing children witness violence or go through pain, and, compared to him, Lithuania was but a child, vulnerable and hurt too much by a cruel world.

His hesitation at an end, China walked over and knelt next to Belarus, shaking her gently.

"What do you want?" Belarus growled.

"You need to get up, aru," China said, very quietly, "We might die if you don't."

Belarus's eyes narrowed, and she looked around, taking in the scene through dull eyes that narrowed, the dullness sharpening into an icy glare at the sight of Panem.

Then, she stood up. A moment later, China did the same.

Panem smiled, and it frightened even China, although he did not allow her to see that he was afraid of a woman who was a mere infant in comparison to him. He could remember Ukraine's terrified, tearful face as she was buried under the rubble of a collapsing building, and he knew... He knew that Panem was the cause of that, of the deaths of many nations, likely including his own family, and he hated and feared her.

The girl strode over to him and Belarus, seemingly ignoring Lithuania, who still sat on the floor, shaking.

"You were too slow," she said. Then, unexpectedly, she kicked China in the stomach, sending the petite nation to his knees.

"But you did it," she said, "So I won't shoot you yet. Now, tell me, one of you… Where is Russia?"

China exchanged a glance with Lithuania. The brunet boy shook his head, and China knew, then, that Lithuania had no idea where Russia was. And, so, if Russia was the one Panem wanted, they were all doomed.

"We have no idea, aru," China said, "We woke up this morning and he was gone."

"Lies," Panem said contemptuously, "You have one chance. Tell me where he is, China, and tell me now."

"What if we don't talk?" Belarus spat, "Will you shoot us?"

"Not you," Panem said, glancing meaningfully at Lithuania.

"We don't know where Russia is!" China snapped, "Don't hurt that child!"

"Oh, he's a child, is he?" Panem asked, "And you're an adult? What a pathetic adult you are, kneeling on the ground. Let's humiliate you further, shall we?"

China glared at her, wishing suddenly that he was back with Lithuania, instead of out here in the middle of the floor. At least there he had had the comfort of the Baltic boy's presence. Now, he had only Belarus, who would provide no comfort whatsoever. And even he would have very much liked some comfort at this moment, when they were likely to die.

Smiling, Panem came closer to China, who remained glaring at her. There was a madness in her eyes, a madness with a depth that China had seen in very few nations before, and it unnerved him.

Panem lifted her foot, and, placing it on China's back, began pressing down on the slim nation's back.

China gasped, struggling to keep himself from falling flat onto the ground, but to no avail. Panem seemed to possess a superhuman strength, and, soon, China's arms gave out, and he fell prostrate to the floor.

"One of the oldest nations on earth," Panem said contemptuously, pressing down harder on China's back, "And all it takes is a few simple moments to put you in your rightful place. Do you like it there, China? Do you like lying on the ground and knowing that you are worth less than the floor you lie on?"

"Stop it!" Lithuania shouted, "L-leave him alone!"

"I could break your neck in an instant," Panem said with a laugh, "I could break _all_ of your necks."

A strangled sob managed to escape from between China's gritted teeth. He could feel the pressure on his back building, and he felt as if it would break him in half.

"I'll give you one last chance," Panem said, "Tell me where Russia is, China…"

"I don't know!" China hissed, "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you! You don't need to know where he is, aru. You'll only hurt him!"

"Is that your final answer?" Panem asked, looking around, "Do you all agree with China?"

Lithuania nodded, and China could only assume that Belarus did as well. His vision was beginning to fade at the corners, and he welcomed the fading light, hoping that it meant Panem would end him quickly.

Then, the pressure on his back disappeared.

"Sit up, you pathetic creature," Panem said contemptuously, "You're fun to play with, but your human form is awfully fragile. I think some psychological torture may be in your future, don't you?"

"You said you would kill me if I didn't tell you where Russia was, aru!" China snapped, "What is this game?"

"I never said I would kill_ you_," Panem said, "But I'll make you watch while I destroy the 'child' you seem to have grown rather attached to in recent days…"

Horrified, China glanced over at Lithuania, who smiled reassuringly.

"It will be fine," Lithuania said, "I'll be fine. Don't fight her. She might not kill you or Belarus if you don't give her a reason."

Panem laughed.

"You're quite the optimist," she said to Lithuania, "Let's see if we can break that habit."

"Don't hurt him!" China shouted, "He's a child, aru!"

"No younger than your family members," Panem said, "No younger than Hong Kong, or Taiwan, or South Korea, all of whom died in the ruins of the final world conference."

"You killed them…" China whispered.

He had known before, deep inside, that most of his family must be dead. But actually hearing it shattered something inside of him. He remembered all of them as children, playing with their brothers and sisters, and he knew that they should still be alive, should still be living full and happy lives, as they deserved to. And they were_ dead_. Panem had murdered his family.

He knew now what deep and terrible anguish Lithuania must be carrying. Knowing-or even believing-that your family members were dead… It was an agony like few China had ever experienced.

"You murdered my family!" China screamed. He scrambled to his feet, fully intending to unleash all his years of training in the martial arts upon Panem, to punish the girl who had murdered his brothers and sisters.

He did not even get half a step toward Panem before he found himself forced to his knees again, held in her bodyguards' iron grip.

"Make sure neither of them interfere," Panem said, her voice malicious, "But make sure they don't look away, as well."

"Don't touch that child!" China shrieked, struggling to free himself, "Leave him alone, aru!"

He looked over at Belarus, and saw that the girl was similarly restrained. They would not be able to help Lithuania…

That knowledge shattered all that was left of China's rapidly disintegrating heart. He wanted to help Lithuania, the child who was so vulnerable, although he pretended not to be.

He wanted to save every hurt child, because no one deserved to suffer, not really, not even Russia.

But he could do nothing.

* * *

Lithuania watched, wide-eyed, as China screamed for Panem not to harm anyone. He knew that he would be the one tortured, and he was at peace with that thought, with the knowledge that he would most likely die.

And yet, he wished that he would not die in front of his friends. China seemed to truly care, and Lithuania wondered if they might have been closer friends had they been able to talk a little more. He supposed he would never know, but thinking about it, he wished he had talked to the other nation when he had had the chance, before the world had ended.

Then, there was Belarus, who stared stoically at him, no emotion on her face. But in her eyes, Lithuania thought he saw a hint of pity, and, perhaps, sadness. Most like, it was only his imagination… But it did not hurt to pretend.

China and Belarus had been restrained, and now, Panem stood in front of Lithuania, staring down at him.

"I need a knife or two," she said, "I know Belarus has at least one. Find it."

A moment later, one of Panem's bodyguards was rummaging through Belarus's pockets. The girl struggled and managed to kick the man, which slowed the operation slightly.

However, it was not long before Panem held a glistening knife in each hand. She turned back to Lithuania, grinning in a most frightening manner.

"You don't need to kill me," Lithuania said softly, staring up at her, "You don't need to kill anyone. There has to be a better way…"

"This _is _the best way," Panem said, "I want you to suffer."

She glanced back at her soldiers.

"Someone get this on camera. I want America to see what we-no, what _I've_ done to his little friend."

One of the soldiers produced what looked suspiciously like a video camera, and, after a few moments, nodded to Panem, who smiled.

"Now, Lithuania…" she said, "The fun begins."

Lithuania shivered, glancing at China, who was staring at him, his honey-colored eyes filled with tears.

"Put both your hands flat against the wall, palms facing me," Panem said, and her sinister tone told Lithuania that she would not allow him to argue further.

Shaking, the boy placed his hands flat against the wall, bracing himself for whatever might follow.

_"I will be brave. I've done it before. This won't hurt much, I'm sure it won't… Oh, _please_, let her kill me quickly…"_

Without warning, Panem lunged forward, burying a knife in Lithuania's left hand, driving it through his palm and into the wall behind him, pinning his hand there.

Lithuania could not help it. The brunet Baltic screamed in pain. Although he remembered well the misery of his past, the agony of life with Russia, he was certain that he had not remembered the pain in completely detail. Even this seemingly small wound was utter agony.

"Please, no!" he sobbed, "Please don't hurt me!"

"You scream even more quickly than Estonia," Panem said, a sadistic smile on her face.

"Estonia…" Lithuania gasped, his eyes widening. For a moment, he almost forgot the pain he was in, so horrible and unexpected was this new development.

"Estonia's alive… You tortured him! No! No, you can't torture him, he'll go mad!"

"So I found out," Panem said, laughing in a decidedly crazed manner. In that moment, all Lithuania could think of was how much that laugh reminded him of Estonia in times past, and, he realized, Estonia as he might be now, if Panem had really tortured him.

"No…" Lithuania whispered, "Please, God, _no_… This can't be happening… Please…"

"Lithuania, snap out of it!" China shouted, "She's probably not even telling the truth, aru!"

"E-Estonia…" Lithuania murmured.

He looked up at Panem, and found himself wishing for the first time that a living person had never existed.

"You tortured my brother…"

Panem rammed the second knife through his right hand. Lithuania shrieked, a cry of agony and despair.

"Please don't!" the Baltic boy sobbed, "Please, if you're going to kill me, do it now… Please…"

Panem crouched next to him, her gaze almost understanding.

"That must hurt an awful lot," she said, "So, I'll make a deal with you. Tell me where Russia is… And I'll kill you quickly. It'll be a bullet to the head; you'll barely feel anything. What do you say?"

"I don't know where he is!" Lithuania whimpered, "I can't tell you! I'm sorry! Please, kill me…"

"Why do you want to die so badly?" Panem asked.

Lithuania looked past her, at Belarus, and he decided that as he was about to die anyways, what he said did not matter.

"Because after everything… The person I loved the most hated me. I…I think I did something to make her angry with me… I don't know what, but it must have been horrible… And anyways, no one needs me… Not anymore… So… I… I want to die because… Because I don't have anything to live for…"

"Who will take care of Russia if you die?" China shouted, "Think, aru! Your death isn't worth the pain it would cause Russia, is it?!"

Lithuania froze. He had not thought of Russia.

"Tell me where he is, and you won't need to take care of him," Panem said, "It must be such a burden, taking care of someone like that… Tell me where he is, and I'll free you of both the burden of taking care of him, and of the burden that is your life."

"Don't hurt him!" Belarus roared, startling Lithuania, "He's an idiot, but he doesn't deserve for you to do this to him!"

"Don't act like you care…" Lithuania whispered, "I can't believe it if you say you do, after… Belarus, _why_ did you hurt me, in the end…? I don't understand… I don't understand any of this… It hurts…"

Belarus said nothing, merely stared at him sadly.

Panem stood up, and then she kicked Lithuania, hard, and he discovered that her boots were almost certainly steel toed. He screamed, and then, when she kicked him again, he locked eyes with China, staring into the older nation's honeyed eyes, and, somehow, finding some vestige of comfort there.

And although he screamed, he was able to pretend that when it was all over, someone would be there to fix him, to wipe away his tears, to bandage his wounds, and to stroke his hair until he fell asleep, as Estonia, Latvia, and, occasionally, Russia, had done for him long ago.

But Lithuania knew, deep inside, that when this torture ended, he would die. This was an agony that would end in his death, and although he feared his life's end, he also felt a sort of peace in knowing that he would die.

_"Finally… After so long… I will be allowed to rest."_

Lithuania felt his rib crack, and he let out a shriek of pure agony. Then, as the pain subsided slightly, he looked back into China's eyes. The older nation was crying, tears flowing openly down his cheeks, and Lithuania wondered foggily if the tears were for him, or for China's lost family. Perhaps they were for both.

For a moment, he wished that he was not pinned to the wall by his hands, doomed to die, so that he could comfort China, who had lost his family. He wished in that moment that he would be able to wake up when Russia returned, to smile at him and reassure him. He did not want Russia to come back to find him dead. But his blood, crimson, flowed from his hands, down his arms, staining his clothes with the deep red of his life's blood. He could not tell, but from the pain, he believed that other parts of his body were bleeding too, or, at least, that they were terribly bruised. Darkness seemed to be waiting at the edge of his vision, and although he tried hard to fight it, he could feel himself steadily slipping further away from life.

Tears flowed from Lithuania's eyes, and as his head began to droop, they dripped onto the cold, concrete floor.

"I'm sorry!" Lithuania screamed, not knowing whom he was apologizing to, but knowing that he must apologize, "I'm so very sorry! Please, just let me die!"

* * *

China stared at Lithuania, trying to struggle free of Panem's bodyguards so that he could at the very least_ try_ to protect the Baltic boy… But he could not break the guards' iron grip.

And Lithuania kept screaming, until Panem finally stopped kicking him for a moment. The Baltic boy's breath came in weak, sobbing gasps, and he no longer seemed to have the strength to raise his head.

"Aw, poor Lithuania…" Panem said, her voice laced with a false pity, "Are you sure you don't know where Russia is?"

"I don't," Lithuania wheezed, "I really don't. I'm sorry."

"Does anyone here know where Russia is?" Panem asked, turning to glare at Belarus and China.

China shook his head, still trying to struggle free. Belarus merely glared at Panem.

"This is your last chance," Panem said.

"We really don't know, aru," China said, struggling to keep his voice level, "Let Lithuania go!"

"I don't think I will," Panem said, glancing at Lithuania, who watched her through half-closed eyes. "He's useless to me anyways."

China started to protest, but Lithuania cut him off.

"China, it's all right," the boy said tiredly, "It's fine. I'd rather just die."

"It's not all right!" China snapped, speaking more to Panem than to Lithuania, "You can't just leave him to die!"

"Actually, I can," Panem said, "And I think I will."

"No!" Belarus growled, "You will not!"

"I told you, it's fine," Lithuania said. The boy sounded exhausted and in pain, and China wanted nothing more than to find a way out of this situation.

"I don't care," Lithuania whispered, "Just let her kill me."

"You heard him," Panem said, "Now, let's go. He won't last long out here, and if he doesn't bleed to death, he'll die of thirst eventually."

Not for the first time, China wished he were taller and stronger than he was. No matter how hard he struggled, it seemed completely effortless for Panem's bodyguards to drag him out of the room. Belarus somehow managed to give them more trouble, which surprised China, given how she had behaved toward Lithuania the previous day.

"Let me go, aru!" China shouted, "I am not leaving him! I'm not!"

He kicked at the man holding him, only to find a second soldier close by, ready with what appeared to be a large brick.

"Stop!" China screamed.

The soldier smashed a brick into his head, and for the moment, China knew no more.

* * *

**I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I think I did an okay job of writing it, but for literally the first time ever, Lithuania isn't acting the way I expect him to _at all_. And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. **

**Also, yes, more deaths from the initial attack were confirmed in this chapter. I'll keep revealing who died there throughout the story, so keep a lookout. It will tell you who has a possibility of showing up later, and who doesn't. **


	12. Panem's Prisoners

**OK, I'm back, and you all knew that, so let me skip to the important stuff.**

**First of all, there are a ton of POV switches in this chapter. I apologize for that, but there was a great deal to be said, and I found the frequent POV switches the easiest way to convey what I needed to.**

**Secondly, the first couple of scenes in this chapter may be slightly confusing, and I apologize for that. Again, there wasn't much I could do about it.**

**Thirdly, I have a cold, so if this sounds completely random, I apologize...**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Panem's Prisoners

All Estonia had asked for was one quiet day to rest and try to process what had happened to them. But one of those days led to another, and he quickly wished that those days would never end. It was safer to be left alone in his room with Latvia, waiting, than to be tortured or visited by Panem.

But, of course, their quiet days had to end. And so, one evening, they did.

He and Latvia had been close to falling asleep, curled up in Estonia's bed. Latvia had taken to sleeping there regularly, and Estonia did not have the heart to push the younger boy away.

Their dinner had come several hours before, and Estonia had expected the rest of the day to be uneventful.

He had never been more wrong.

First, there was the unexpected entrance of a nation Estonia had not even dreamed of seeing again, let alone in this prison.

When the door opened, Estonia's eyes snapped open. The blonde Baltic expected trouble, but, to his surprise, the door shut almost immediately, leaving a single figure standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Estonia," someone said, sounding both awkward and slightly relieved. Estonia recognized the voice, but he knew immediately that there was no way that this person was a prisoner … Was there?

"A-America?" Estonia stammered, thinking he must have misheard the voice. There was simply no way that America was also a prisoner here. The Baltic boy groped for his glasses, and, finally locating them, was shocked to see that it was, in fact, America.

"Yup, it's me!" America said, sounding amazingly cheerful. For a moment, Estonia was comforted by the older boy's tone. Then, he noticed the forced note in America's tone, saw the barely masked pain in his eyes, and realized that the tall boy was trying to put on a brave face. An attempt at being heroic, no doubt.

"Hello," Estonia said cautiously. He sat up slowly, and as he did so, Latvia stirred next to him.

"Hey," America said, still sounding awkward, "And hey to you too, Latvia."

Latvia sat bolt upright, his eyes wide.

"Mr. America?" he squeaked, "How are you here…?"

America looked away, the anguish in his eyes spilling over onto the rest of his features.

"I…uh… I came to save England," he murmured, his voice surprisingly subdued, "I… I didn't save him."

It was then that Estonia understood. America was there because he had failed to play hero. The Estonian felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the older boy, who had failed to protect his friend, as Estonia once had.

"You can sit down," he said, gesturing to a chair, "And… Well… I…"

"Why are you here, Mr. America?" Latvia asked, voicing Estonia's unspoken question, "I mean, why are you in this room?"

"That's what I'd like to know," America said, sitting down heavily, "I really don't know. The guards just came and got me, and…"

"Oh, don't worry," said a familiar female voice, "You'll learn why you're here in just a moment."

Estonia began to shake slightly, hating himself, but unable to stay calm. Knowing that Panem was there, he instantly felt frightened. He was painfully aware of what the woman was capable of, and he knew that eventually, she planned to kill him, and she would then hurt Latvia. And that knowledge was eating steadily away at his sanity.

He began to wonder, then, how long it would be until he broke down at the mere sound of her voice. He already feared her so much after only a week, and he worried that he would lose his mind if he was left under these circumstances. And although he tried to believe he would be all right, doubt was there in his mind, taunting him, and the echoes of his past madness were haunting him.

_"Who do you think you're fooling? You'll go mad in any event, given enough time."_

"Enlighten us, then," he said aloud, keeping his voice cold and even, "Tell us why we are all here, and what you're going to make us do."

He could feel Latvia burrowing deeper under the blankets, trying to hide, and he placed a reassuring hand on what he thought was either the boy's head or his shoulder.

"Well, I find it amusing that you and Latvia share a bed, but that's not important," Panem said with a slightly demonic grin, "Get comfortable, all of you. I've got a movie to show you."

Estonia knew then that whatever they were going to watch would be horrible, and, more than anything, he wanted to tell Latvia to leave the room. But, unlike when they had lived with Russia, this was not an option. There was nowhere for Latvia to go.

He glanced at America, who was still seated in a chair, and saw a disturbing glimpse of fear on the other boy's face.

_"Even America is frightened…"_

"Ready for the movie?" Panem asked, sitting down on what was technically Latvia's bed. Vaguely, Estonia saw her bodyguards in the doorway, and realized that any attempt to attack her would be futile. She was likely to be much stronger than him, anyways, and if his calculations were right, she would overpower him in next to no time. Not for the first time, Estonia wished he had spent less time indoors. He was weaker than he would have liked to be, especially in a situation like this.

Estonia felt Latvia wiggle out of the blankets, shaking his curly head, and he resisted the urge to shove the boy back in. Latvia would likely be forced to watch, in any event, and although Estonia did not want him to, there seemed to be no way to prevent it.

Panem produced a remote, seemingly from nowhere, and Estonia noticed that there was a television in the room.

"We had a TV this whole time?" Latvia asked, "I didn't know…"

"You can have the remote later, but I don't think this TV has cable," Panem said, "Anyways, the point of being in prison is boredom, not being entertained. Plus, I can provide much better entertainment than any reality show."

She smirked at America, and then at Estonia.

"Isn't that right?" she asked, and Estonia realized then that she might well torture him in front of Latvia if the small boy drew much more attention to himself.

"Latvia, be quiet," Estonia said, placing his hand warningly on the younger boy's shoulder. Latvia glanced at him, his violet eyes wide and questioning. However, he did not speak again, merely slipped his hand over so that it was grasping Estonia's under the blanket.

There was a long pause, and then, Panem turned the TV on.

Estonia fidgeted, casting an anxious glance at America. The older boy was staring at the TV, his blue eyes wide and anxious. Although it was clear that America was trying to keep a brave face, Estonia could see clearly that he was worried.

Then, a video began to play. It was shaky at first, dark and blurry, and Estonia had to wonder what it was that they were seeing. Then, the camera came into focus, and he felt cold, agonizing dread seep into him.

Panem was there, just inside the camera's view. And behind her, sitting quite still with his back to the wall, was Lithuania.

"Oh my God…" America murmured, "Lithuania…"

Latvia whimpered quietly, and Estonia realized with a jolt that the Latvian boy knew, to some extent, that something bad was going to happen to Lithuania, to their brother.

"Panem, don't," he said quietly, "Don't make Latvia watch this. You said you wouldn't do anything to Latvia; that was our deal!"

"I'm not doing anything to him," Panem said, giggling slightly, "He's just watching this. I never said I wouldn't make him watch you and your friends be hurt, Estonia. Now be quiet."

At that moment, on the video, Lithuania screamed.

Estonia jumped, and he felt Latvia beginning to shake next to him.

_"How many times have I heard him scream before? Too many, but I thought I was used to hearing him in pain... So why does it frighten me _now_?"_

Perhaps it was the fact that they were vulnerable to death now, or perhaps it was because it had been many years since he had heard Lithuania sound so pained. In any event, hearing that scream from the other Baltic frightened Estonia.

Unwillingly, Estonia glanced up at the TV, to see that Panem had driven a knife through Lithuania's hand, and, it appeared, had pinned him to the wall by his hand.

"Don't watch," Estonia muttered to Latvia, who was staring wide-eyed at the screen, "Just…don't."

And then Lithuania was crying, pleading, begging Panem to stop hurting him. Estonia had not heard him plead like that in a very long time.

"Please, no!" Lithuania sobbed, "Please don't hurt me!"

"You scream even more quickly than Estonia," said the Panem on the screen, the smile on her face first frightening Estonia, and then angering him as he realized that Panem was using him against Lithuania.

"You monster…" Estonia growled. He nearly lunged at the real Panem, but restrained himself, reluctant to be hurt or tortured over something that had already taken place, something he was powerless to stop. But it was Lithuania, and Panem had tortured him. Panem had tortured-and, perhaps, had killed-Estonia's brother.

"Estonia…" Lithuania gasped. Estonia could see the horror on the older boy's face, and he hated knowing that Lithuania had no way of knowing that he, Estonia, was alive and healing from the wounds Panem had inflicted on him. But what Lithuania said next forced Estonia to lose all self restraint.

"Estonia's alive… You tortured him!"Lithuania gasped, sobbing, and sounding so _utterly horrified_, "No! No, you can't torture him, he'll go mad!"

"So I found out," Panem said, laughing. That laughter reminded Estonia of himself, long ago, and, enraged, he leapt from the bed and lunged at the real Panem.

"You _monster_!" Estonia shouted, slapping Panem across the face with all the force he could muster, "How _dare_ you do that to him? How could you? Do you know how much that hurt him? Do you have any idea?"

His breathing had accelerated drastically, and he felt an alarming, burning hatred for Panem now that he had seen what she was willing to do to even Lithuania, who had harmed no one.

"I hate you!" he shouted, "I… You… How could you?"

Panem smirked, and in the background, Estonia heard someone-Latvia, he thought-beginning to cry.

Then, Panem waved her hand, and her bodyguards pulled him back, away from her, away from his one chance at punishing her for what she had done to Lithuania and to their world.

He glanced back up at the TV, and although he could barely register what Lithuania was saying, the agony on the older boy's face hurt Estonia at a level that was almost too much to bear.

_"I failed him. I wasn't there… We're supposed to stand _together_… But I thought Russia was with him, and Belarus and China? Where were they, while this was happening? Lithuania… Why?"_

* * *

America could only stare at the TV screen and at Lithuania. When Estonia attacked Panem, he nearly stood up to help. But then, he thought of what Panem might do to England if he attacked her. And it was then that America began to believe that he was not only not a hero, but a coward as well.

Lithuania was screaming, sobbing, and America's mind could now fill in the blanks of the things Lithuania had tried very hard not to tell him when they had lived together. He had asked Lithuania once about his scars, and Lithuania hadn't told him much. But now he knew.

_"This is how hurt he was. All the time. And he never even showed it. He _always_ smiled… And… And… Poor Lithuania!"_

Lithuania was begging Panem to kill him, and the agonizing knowledge that Panem probably _had_ killed the other boy was horrible enough that America nearly broke down sobbing.

It was only when the unmistakable voice of China began shouting at Lithuania, telling him that he had to live to take care of Russia, that America _did_ begin to cry. And as Belarus joined in, actually defending Lithuania instead of trying to hurt him, America glanced over at Estonia and Latvia. Latvia was crying too, his curly-haired head in his hands, while Estonia glared at Panem, straining against the guards' grip in a futile effort to attack the girl.

Lithuania shrieked, an agonizing sound, and America began mentally pleading Panem to end this before they all lost their minds. Estonia was shouting, now, and America could only stare helplessly, too frightened of what Panem might do to England to take any kind of action against her.

Panem-the one on the video tape, not the real one-was still kicking Lithuania, after what America felt must have been at least an hour of torture. America was sure he would never forget Lithuania's screams, or the way he finally begged China to let Panem leave him there to die.

And Panem must have left Lithuania, because it was then, with the focus on Lithuania's agonized, exhausted face, that the screen went black.

* * *

Latvia couldn't remember ever feeling this frightened and sad before. But then, he did remember, and the remembering hurt him, caused his hands to jerk impulsively as he stared down at the thin scars running across the backs of his slim hands.

"You killed him," he murmured, sobbing, and looking only at Panem, who looked terribly pleased with herself, "You killed Lithuania, didn't you?"

He climbed off the bed, hearing his own voice drop to a childish tone, oddly familiar, yet at the same time, foreign.

"Why did you hurt Lithuania, Panem?" he said in an almost singsong tone, "Why did you, hmm?"

Panem stared at him, and he felt tears running down his cheeks. Lithuania's screams echoed in his head, and he knew they would haunt him for many nights come.

"You killed him. That wasn't very nice of you…"

He was close to Panem, now, and he wished he could hurt her, could make her see, just once, how much it had hurt Estonia and Lithuania to be tortured like that. In an almost unreal, detached way, Latvia decided that he wanted to kill Panem.

"Lati," someone said, "Stop. Listen to your voice."

"But why, Eddy?" Latvia asked, turning to stare wide-eyed at Estonia, "I want her to tell me why she hurt my brother. She hurt both my brothers-she tortured you too, not just Lithuania! She hurt Mr. America too, right?"

He turned toward America, who was watching him through tired, teary blue eyes.

"You got hurt, and that's why you're just sitting there instead of hurting her like heroes are supposed to, right?" he asked.

America avoided his gaze, but Latvia could still sense that the older boy was in mental turmoil, and from the stricken look on America's face, the Latvian boy could see that he had said something that pained America, although what it was, he was not sure.

"Not me," America murmured, "England."

"See, Eddy?" Latvia said, "It's not just about us anymore. We should make her see that being hurt is bad."

"Raivis," Estonia said, his voice surprisingly firm, "Stop. You sound exactly like I did… You know, back when…?"

Latvia froze, the pieces suddenly coming into place. Suddenly, he felt not only sad, but horrified at himself.

"Oh G-God…" he stammered, backing away from Panem, who staring at him in an almost confused manner, "Oh m-my God…"

The voice he had lapsed into was near identical to Russia's. The words he had said, Latvia was certain, were Estonia's.

Stepping backward, away from Panem, Latvia tripped, and, falling backwards, he landed on the thickly carpeted floor in a shocked, whimpering heap.

"Latvia!" Estonia gasped, but the boy barely cared.

_"Russia's voice, Eddy's words… Oh God oh God oh God I am going _insane_ this is what insanity is…"_

He looked up at Panem, who was staring at him, looking decidedly shocked.

"And here I was, thinking you were completely innocent," Panem said with a disturbed-sounding laugh, "Guess I was wrong. But don't even think about hurting me, little Latvia. You couldn't hurt a fly even if you tried."

"But he should."

The words came, completely unexpectedly, from America, who was on his feet. His face was grim, but his hands shook, and there were tears running down his cheeks.

"You're a murderer," he said, glaring at Panem, "Even if I'm no hero, you're still beneath me. You're a _villain_. You… You killed Lithuania, Ukraine, Finland… Who else? Who else have you killed, little sister? You little murderer… I… I…"

Latvia could hear the agony in America's voice, and he could tell that the older boy was crying.

"I wish you were dead," Estonia said, glaring straight at Panem, "I hope you burn in hell after you die, as well."

Panem glared at them for a moment, but Latvia noticed a change in her eyes when she looked at him, a change that confused and frightened him.

"Get America back to his cell," she snapped at her bodyguards, "This party's over."

"Burn in hell, Panem," Estonia said, his voice full of hatred, "Burn in hell."

"If I burn, you all burn with me," Panem said, turning to leave, "You, the selfish boy pretending to be sane when he isn't. America, who is even more selfish, and worthless to boot."

She turned back and smiled at Latvia.

"And let's not forget our curly-haired cutie. You'll be burning too, once your closeted insanity comes out for all to see."

And then she left, her bodyguards dragging America out, leaving Latvia staring after them, wondering.

_"Could I go insane? Could I go insane like Eddy was? Would she kill me then? She killed Lithuania… And he was the nicest person I ever knew… So why doesn't she kill me now? Why doesn't she just…kill us all now?"_

* * *

England had been near panic when the soldiers had taken America away. He had not known, then, what they might do to the boy, and after seeing how upset America had been at seeing him tortured, he could not imagine what torture might do to America himself.

But when America was finally returned, England did not see any wounds on the boy. There was only an agonized, haunted look in America's eyes, and that alerted him to the fact that something terrible had happened.

"America?" he said, "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," America whispered. His voice broke halfway through, and he threw himself on the floor next to England.

"Just please don't ask me, England," he said, "I don't ever want to think about it again."

"Good God, boy, what did she do to you?" England asked. He was alarmed for a moment, imagining the horrible things that might have been done to America in his absence. But, then, to his shock, America punched angrily at the wall.

"She murdered Lithuania!" he said, his voice somewhere between an agonized sob and a whimper, "She tortured him and left him to die."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Alfred?" England asked, wondering if the boy was delirious. He almost hoped he was, because he remembered Lithuania, and it was frightening to think that Panem might really have hurt the Baltic boy.

"She videotaped herself torturing him," America said brokenly, "And she made me and Estonia and poor little Latvia _watch_ that video."

He turned his pained, blue-eyed gaze on England.

"I think she's driving Latvia insane," he whimpered, "Iggy, I want to get him outta here. I want to get you all out! I want to save you and Latvia and Estonia and whoever else is here, and I want to go back in time and save poor Lithuania and… God damn it all, why can't I just save everyone?!"

America punched at the wall again, and England grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him, only to be shaken off.

"Don't," America said, his voice agonized, "I want to be in pain, Iggs. I want to feel what you're feeling right now. I want to feel your pain. I want to take it away! Why can't I…?"

"You're only human, America," England said quietly, "No one blames you."

"You're wrong," America said with a bitter laugh, "Panem blames me. And I blame myself. She was right. I am a bad person, and now… Even I can't be the hero. No matter how much I want to, I just can't…"

"America!" England snapped, "Stop! Stop that, right now. You're a good boy, you really are, so stop…"

"I am not a good person, England," America said quietly, leaning back against the wall, "If I was a good person, I wouldn't be such an idiot, now would I?"

"You are not an…"

"Shut up," America said, "You've called me an idiot a thousand times. Don't you dare change your mind now that you have proof that I really am an idiot."

As England watched, America turned to stare at him, a sad, painful smile on his face.

"You were right all along, Iggy," he said, "I'm not a hero. I'm an idiot. I guess I should have listened to you, huh?"

* * *

It was oddly quiet when Russia returned to the hideout, and although he was feeling pleased with himself at the moment, this silence unnerved him. He had fully expected to return to hear Belarus shouting at someone-probably Lithuania-for allowing him to be absent for so long.

He had not meant to stay away for so many hours, but he had thought that the others were safe there, in their hiding place. Oh, how wrong he had been.

"Little sister?" Russia called softly, unnerved by the lonely silence, "Lithuania? China?"

There was no reply.

"Belarus!" Russia called, louder this time, "Are you here? I have come back at this time!"

Silence. Terrible, nerve-wracking, lonely silence that reminded him of his home after his family had left him.

_"_Nyet_. We do not think or speak of that time."_

Cautiously, Russia stepped inside the silent building. As he moved through the large rooms, almost resembling a pale ghost wearing a scarf, he began to realize that something had gone terribly wrong.

He had come in the back entrance, and when he finally reached the front of the building, his worst fears were confirmed. There was no sign of China or Belarus, but there were blood spatters on the floor, growing more frequent and more noticeable the closer Russia came.

And there in the corner, slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, was Lithuania.

"_Litva_…" Russia breathed, staring at the Baltic nation. At first glance, Lithuania appeared to be asleep. But the blood on the floor told a different story, as did the fact that his hands were raised above his head, pinned to the wall with knives. These knives, Russia realized with a painful shock, belonged to Belarus.

"I… I… Toris, wake up!" Russia said frantically, running over to crouch next to the other nation.

_"He can't be dead, he cannot be!_ Litva_ is not allowed to be dying!" _

He wrapped a large hand around Lithuania's wrist, and was relieved to feel a faint pulse. Lithuania's hands and arms were caked with dried blood, and Russia began to wonder if Belarus would really have done something so horrible to the boy whom Russia knew loved her. Russia knew that Belarus knew as well, and although he could not quite understand it, he knew that Belarus _had_ loved Lithuania, and had, for some reason, stopped loving him.

"What has happened to you?" he whispered, staring at Lithuania.

He glanced around, hoping that China would appear to explain the situation and put his fears to rest. But China did not come, and Russia began to feel even more uneasy. The possibility that it was Panem who had hurt Lithuania was only too likely, especially considering Belarus and China's disappearance.

"We must be getting you out of here," Russia murmured to Lithuania.

Carefully but swiftly, he pulled the knives from Lithuania's hands, wincing every time the Baltic moaned in his sleep. Then, almost afraid Lithuania would break if he touched him, Russia picked the boy up and carried him away, out of the blood-stained, empty building, and into the sunlight.

He looked down at Lithuania, and seeing agony on the boy's face, Russia's worry deepened.

"Be holding on, _Litva_," he said, "It will be all right, da?"

But now, alone except for the unconscious Lithuanian, Russia was certain that nothing would ever be all right again.

* * *

It was dark in his cell, and the lights showed no sign of coming on.

China did not know how long he had been there. He thought it had only been a few hours, but it felt like a lifetime that he had been there, alone in the dark.

And, as he could see next to nothing in the near darkness, he had no way of distracting himself from the terrible things in his mind.

_"Lithuania is probably… No. No. Don't think about it, aru. Don't think…"_

Up until that moment, China had tried his best to remain composed. But now, after several hours in the cell, he decided that his composure no longer mattered. The petite nation sat down on the cold floor and buried his head in his hands. For the first time, he realized how cold it was in the cell.

"I let them kill him, aru," China said aloud, a telltale catch in his voice, "I left him behind."

The 'him' in question, was, of course, Lithuania. China could see no way that the boy could still be alive, not after the beating he had received at Panem's cruel hands.

_"If Russia found him… No, what if he's the bait? There might be people in there waiting for Russia, and… Oh… Even if Lithuania _is_ still alive, Panem may be planning to finish him off in front of Russia…"_

China moaned quietly.

_"I don't think Panem is that smart. But if she is that smart, then… Oh, I want to be out there now to take care of them. I want to make sure Lithuania will be all right, aru! He has to be all right, because if he isn't, Russia…"_

"She did that on purpose!" China gasped, his tone outraged, "She _wants_ Russia to be alone!"

And if he didn't know it before, he knew now. Panem was an utter psychopath, maddened and ruthless. And he, China, along with who knew how many others, was trapped in her prison, at her mercy.

_"Lithuania may have had the right idea," _China thought sadly, _"Death might be the only way out this time, aru."_

* * *

Alone in her cell, Belarus cursed her stupidity.

She had sworn she would not cry, but it was terribly hard, even as she paced the cell feverishly. Pacing, she had discovered, was the only way she could distract herself, even a little, from what had happened.

At first, she had been able to sit still, staring unblinking at the wall. But now, the terrible reality had settled into her mind, and she could not escape it.

She had barely noticed before, but she realized now that she kept muttering names under her breath. 'Ivan' was, predictably for the Belarus character, a common utterance. Far more frequent, however, was the name that Belarus had promised herself she would never speak while in her formal nation character.

'Toris'.

_"It's funny,"_ she thought morbidly, _"Humans do not love their siblings, not in that way, but it is a fairly common occurrence for us nations. Odd that the Natalya character, the one closer to being human, is the one who loves Toris, and Belarus loves Russia."_

Belarus did not consider herself to have a split personality. She had, however, separated the characters of Natalya and Belarus in her head. She called the Belarus character by her nation title, only because she had no other name to call her. They were not personalities, but characters. She was only allowed to assume the Belarus role.

"But it doesn't matter anymore," Belarus muttered, "Because _he_ is probably gone."

She didn't want to believe it, but she knew he was gone. He had to be. There was no way to avoid the thought that Lithuania-Toris-was dead. Panem had left him, alone, bleeding, to die. It had been several hours now, and Belarus almost _wanted_ Lithuania to have died soon after they had left. Because it would have meant he had died quickly.

"He didn't deserve it," she murmured angrily, pacing the cell, "He didn't deserve to be hurt like that anymore."

_"Don't act like you care… I can't believe it if you say you do, after… Belarus, why did you hurt me, in the end…? I don't understand… I don't understand any of this… It hurts…"_

Another set of painful, heartbreaking words to add to her collection. Lithuania had never gotten over her, after all.

And she remembered, then, that he had always been willing to take a knife to the stomach or a bullet to the heart for anyone. It had always seemed to her that it was Russia he was most willing to do this for, but she had also seen him defy Russia's wishes and take matters into his own hands many times.

She had once compared him to sunlight. She had compared herself to ice. Now, she once again saw ice in herself, for being too cold to even consider the possibility that Toris Laurinaitis had never given up on loving her.

_"We…we can work something out!"_

"It would never have worked out, idiot," Belarus murmured, "But perhaps you wouldn't have begged her to kill you. Maybe she wouldn't have."

Belarus had never allowed herself to break, not in a place where someone might be watching her. And she knew that Panem must have cameras in her cell, that the other girl would laugh at any sign of weakness from the seemingly stony Belarus.

But Belarus, it appeared, had decided to go on vacation at the moment that she was most needed. Natalya, who was not Belarus, sat down on the cold floor, and began to sob quietly.

* * *

Estonia had never hated someone as much as he hated Panem. Of that, he was certain. He did not even hate Russia to this extent, despite what the large man had done to him. No, his hatred for Panem was far, far greater. Before, he had pitied her, if only slightly. But now, knowing what Panem had done to Lithuania, he wished her dead.

He had finally made Latvia go to bed, but the little boy refused to come near him, instead curling up in his own bed. Estonia lay awake, listening for any sound.

Finally, he heard audible, strangled sobs.

"Raivis…" he murmured. Pushing the covers off, Estonia climbed out of his bed and went over to Latvia's. As he approached, he could see the tiny boy curled up in a shivering, sobbing ball.

"It's all right, Raivis," he said quietly, sitting down on the edge of Latvia's bed, "You're safe. Panem and I have a deal-you're not going to get hurt."

"You think I care about that?" Latvia asked. His voice was surprisingly bitter, and it hurt Estonia to hear such pain in the boy's voice.

"I don't care if I get hurt," Latvia said, "I am-I mean, I was-a weak personification anyways. It doesn't matter if Latvia dies. I probably don't have any citizens left anyways."

Estonia was at a loss for words, then, because as much as he wanted to reassure Latvia that the boy was far from weak, it simply wasn't true. Latvia's sheer physical fragility was a great motivator in Estonia's wish to protect him. The mere thought of what torture could do to the frail boy's body angered and horrified Estonia.

"You don't get it, Eddy," Latvia said, "I'm not a child. I'm _Latvia_. I've seen bad things."

He sat up, and suddenly, he was gripping Estonia's shirt in the darkness, his hands like claws.

"I wanted to kill her, Ed!" he said urgently, his voice once again taking on an anxious and childish tone, "I wanted her to die because she hurt you and Toris. D-does that make me a bad person?"

The boy paused, and then, he added quietly, "Does it make me insane?"

At hearing those words, Estonia's hatred for Panem was strengthened. Because he had, in fact, heard insanity in Latvia's voice, and even thinking of the possibility that his young friend might lose his mind was simply too horrible to comprehend. So he focused all that pain and horror into his ever-increasing hatred for Panem.

And suddenly, he was holding Latvia, wrapping his arms around him as the tiny child sobbed brokenly.

"Am I insane, Eddy?" Latvia asked, "Am I gonna hurt somebody? Please tell me the truth… I'm scared."

"You are not insane, Raivis," Estonia said, pulling Latvia closer, "You're going to be all right. I won't let you go insane and hurt anyone. Don't worry. I'm going to protect you. I promise, I won't let you go insane… I promise…"

* * *

**Latvia was _not_ supposed to be anywhere near losing his mind at this point in the story. These characters are getting out of hand... And I rather like it, although I absolutely hate the way America and England ended up in this chapter. **

**Also, thank you all for your absolutely amazing reviews so far! Reviews keep me motivated (and convince me for a few moments to stop with my self-esteem issues), so thank you all very much! :) **

**With that, I am going to possibly take a nap, or watch Sherlock, which is amazing. Adios, amigos (and amigas)!**


	13. Ice

**I just figured out why I'm depressed. 13 is the unlucky number. Maybe my mood will improve after this chapter. xD**

**That aside, thank you all for your sweet reviews and PMs after I posted "After Insanity". They've made me feel a lot better.**

**Well, I'm updating a day early, as I'll be leaving for a week's vacation tomorrow morning. So, yeah, I won't be around much for the next week. I wouldn't expect a chapter next week, as I'll be getting home late that Saturday night. There is a possibility that I'll update on Sunday, though. It just depends.**

**This chapter introduces a character whom we haven't seen in this story before, and will reveal the unfortunate fates of a few more nations... It will also introduce Latvia's thoughts defying all logic. Even I have no idea what he's up to. I'm not even sure _he_ knows what's up. **

**With that said, I hope you enjoy! (And I hope that Latvia isn't too weird...)**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Ice

For once, Latvia awoke before Estonia the next morning. In truth, the tiny boy had barely slept at all. He had lain awake the greater part of the night, staying nearly perfectly still in an effort not to disturb Estonia, who was clearly worried about him.

Latvia had never considered the possibility that he might go insane. His worst fear upon realizing that they would be subjected to torture was that _Estonia_ might go insane. But now, suddenly, seeing the effects of torture on the others, and being powerless to help them, Latvia understood America's position far too well.

"I always thought I wouldn't fall apart," Latvia murmured as he gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The boy who looked back at him looked ridiculously young, pitifully innocent, and Latvia sighed.

"It doesn't really matter, though," he said, "I don't want to go insane, but I don't want anybody else to go insane or get hurt either. So I want to kill Panem. Is that a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily," said Panem's voice, "I mean, I personally would hate it if you killed me, but considering I _did_ torture your precious brothers… You have every right to hate me."

"You agree with me?" Latvia asked, turning to stare at Panem. The knowledge that Estonia had made a deal with Panem, a deal which would result in his own safety, made Latvia feel braver. He did not realize, then, that the consequences for his actions would be visited on Estonia.

"I hate America for destroying my life," Panem said, "You ought to hate me for destroying yours."

She laughed, and Latvia was frightened again. He was seeing madness everywhere today, and it was prominent and noticeable in Panem.

"Still, I have a plan that might change your mind," Panem said. She placed a finger to her lips. "Don't tell Estonia. He's not allowed to know what I'm up to. He'll just tell me to burn in hell again."

"What do you think you can get from me?" Latvia said quietly, turning back to the mirror. He could still see Panem's reflection in the glass.

"You already hurt my brothers. I won't forgive you, but I'm not gonna be afraid of you like I was afraid of Russia. I'll just hate you."

Panem's smile disappeared, her eyes narrowing.

"Get Estonia up!" she snapped, "I have a job for both of you."

She turned and marched out of the bathroom, and Latvia followed.

By this time, Estonia had evidently heard the noise, as he was sitting up in bed, adjusting his glasses.

"Why is she here, Raivis?" Estonia asked quietly, with a glance at Panem. "Did she hurt you?"

Hesitantly, Latvia shook his head.

"She wants us to come with her. She said she's got a job for us."

"That can't be good," Estonia said, "Stay close to me, okay?"

"You don't have to protect me!" Latvia snapped, the words coming out before he could think about what he was saying, "I'm not a child, I'm a grownup, and I don't need you to protect me!"

Estonia froze, looking visibly shocked.

"Lati…" he murmured, "Don't ever say that again."

Latvia said nothing. Once again, he thought, there was a possibility that the words he had spoken had been spoken first by Estonia, a long time ago.

"Are you people coming or not?" Panem called, and, not looking back to see if Estonia would follow, Latvia hurried out the door. To his relief, there were footsteps a moment later, and Estonia joined them in the hallway.

"What are you planning to do with us?" Estonia asked Panem, adjusting his glasses yet again.

"You'll see," Panem said, smirking, "Now, follow me."

She led them down the long hallway to the elevator.

"Want to push the buttons?" she asked, turning to Latvia, "We're going down to the basement."

Eagerly, Latvia pressed the down button, almost forgetting that they were prisoners. When he saw Estonia's disapproving glare, however, his smile vanished.

"You push the buttons from now on," he mumbled to Panem, backing away from the rows of buttons.

The girl shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

"Why can't I push the buttons?" Latvia whispered to Estonia, "What's wrong with pushing the buttons?"

"You're going to develop Stockholm Syndrome," Estonia hissed, "You probably think it was nice of Panem to offer to let you push the buttons, don't you?"

"I'm not an idiot!" Latvia blurted, "You're an idiot! Look, Eddy! I'm fifteen years old, and I'm _not a baby_!"

Despite his own angry words, however, he _had_ felt grateful to Panem for offering to let him push the buttons. He rarely got to do so in the crowded elevators they always used to for world conferences. Latvia had a vague understanding of what Stockholm Syndrome was, but he was completely certain that thinking that letting him push the buttons was a nice gesture had absolutely nothing to do with it. There was no harm in pushing a few innocent buttons. He wasn't going to forgive Panem for what she had done, just because she had let him push one elevator button.

They finally arrived in the basement, and as the elevator doors opened, Latvia followed Panem out, not waiting for Estonia.

"Raivis…" he heard Estonia murmur, but he paid no attention.

It confused him, however, when they arrived in what seemed to be a small kitchen.

"Why are we here?" he asked Panem.

"You and Estonia are on meals delivery," Panem said, "Once a day, you get to bring meals to all the others."

"The others?" Latvia asked, "You mean like America?"

"And whoever else she's imprisoned," Estonia murmured.

"That's right," Panem said, "You're pretty smart, Latvia."

She gestured to several plates, which had been set out on the counter.

"Latvia, you take one to each of the cells on the left side of the hallway," she said, "Estonia, you're on the right, but you only take food to the first cell. The second cell gets a glass of water every other day."

"What the hell?" Latvia heard Estonia murmur, "Who's in the second cell?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Panem said with a laugh, "Now, I think you two can manage, so I'll leave you now. Just know that there's no way you can escape this building, so don't try. One of the guards will take you back to your room when you're finished here."

She grinned at Latvia.

"See you around, kid."

Then, she left, leaving Estonia and Latvia to their task.

"Latvia, do you know what to do?" Estonia asked.

"Left side," Latvia hummed, "I've got it, Ed. I told you, I'm not a kid."

Estonia sighed, but Latvia ignored him. He was starting to feel slightly guilty, but Estonia's behavior was also getting on his nerves. He didn't need or want the older boy's protection, not under these circumstances.

Picking up one of the plates, Latvia started off to his first destination. It was dark in the hallway, and darker in the prison cell, and so, at first, he could not distinguish the cell's occupant clearly. Then, he heard a low, female voice speaking to him.

"You're not a soldier."

"Ms. Belarus?" Latvia squeaked, feeling decidedly shocked.

Belarus was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled close to her chest in what looked like an uncharacteristically saddened gesture. She stared at the ground, her blue eyes unblinking. For a moment, however, she glanced up at Latvia, apparently trying to discern his identity.

"Oh, it's you," she said, and returned to gazing at the floor.

"A-a-are you okay?" Latvia stuttered, unnerved by Belarus' detached behavior.

"No," Belarus said, "Now get out."

"I b-brought food…"

"Out, Latvia!" Belarus snapped, glaring at him, "Get out and don't come back until you can say something that doesn't sound like Lithuania!"

That was when Latvia realized, with an unexpectedly painful jolt, that Belarus knew already what had happened to Lithuania. And he also realized that she cared what had happened. It saddened him in that moment, realizing that Belarus still cared.

"You still loved…" he started. Belarus turned to him, her eyes narrowed, her expression fierce and angry.

"Get out!" she snarled, "Leave!"

Frightened by her tone and the anger on her face, Latvia quickly set down the food and ran from the cell, his heart pounding in his chest.

_"She loved Lithuania, and now… Now he's gone and she's sad…"_

Walking back to the kitchen, Latvia managed to calm down just enough to paste an indifferent expression onto his face at the sight of Estonia. The older boy glanced at him, his expression concerned, but he said nothing to Latvia.

Latvia picked up the second plate of food and started back down the hallway. When he opened the door to the second cell, he could immediately see a slight figure kneeling on the floor, his arms secured to the walls by chains.

The boy stood there in silence for a moment, trying to discern who this person might be. Then, the prisoner raised his head, and Latvia saw a slight, silver flash as the light from the hallway fell on the prisoner's hair.

Violet eyes, slightly lighter than Latvia's own, looked him over with a cold, nearly indifferent air. It was then that Latvia remembered the prisoner's name.

"Iceland?" he said, "I didn't know you were in here..."

There was a long, awkward pause.

"I didn't know there were any other nations here at all, besides myself," Iceland said finally. His voice was quiet, hoarse, and Latvia could see bruises on his face.

Iceland's violet eyes focused on the food in Latvia's hand. In his other hand, the boy held a glass of water.

"You should take that back," he said, "I can't eat it. Not tied up like this."

Latvia hesitated for a moment. Then, he smiled softly.

"I'll feed you, then," he said, "I bet you're really thirsty."

Before Iceland could protest, Latvia held the glass of water to the Nordic boy's lips, tipping it up slightly.

Eagerly-too eagerly, Latvia thought-Iceland gulped down nearly half the contents of the glass before Latvia pulled it away.

"I think you only get one," he said, "Maybe you should eat first."

Iceland nodded tiredly. Up close, the bruises on his face were more pronounced, and Latvia wondered what had been done to him.

"How long…?"

"Eight days," Iceland said, cutting him off midsentence, "They brought me here after the explosion. I… I couldn't leave… Not fast enough."

He looked down, a dark sadness in his eyes.

"I didn't want to leave the others," he said, "I knew they wouldn't wake up, no matter how much I wanted them to, but… I…"

"You've gotta eat," Latvia interrupted, not wanting to relive the memory of the explosion, "I won't be allowed to stay in here for too long, and…"

"Latvia," Iceland said, his quiet voice suddenly extremely intense, "Look at me."

Unwillingly, Latvia looked up, and found himself staring into the Nordic boy's eyes.

"Are Estonia and Lithuania alive?" Iceland asked, so quietly and sadly that Latvia _knew_ then what had happened to Iceland, what he had seen.

"Estonia is," he murmured, "Lithuania was, but now he isn't."

"The others are dead," Iceland said, his hoarse voice growing unexpectedly choked, "Denmark, Sweden and Finland… Even _Norway_. They're all dead."

"Maybe no-"

"I saw their bodies," Iceland said levelly, "They are dead."

"I'm sorry," Latvia murmured, not knowing what else to say.

"I am too," Iceland said, "They… No one… No one should have had to die that way."

There was silence for a long time, and Latvia began feeding Iceland small pieces of bread.

Finally, the Icelandic boy turned his face away from Latvia.

"You should go now," he said quietly, "I'm not hungry anymore."

Hesitantly, Latvia nodded.

"Do you want some more water first?"

Iceland shook his head.

"Just go," he said, "I'll be fine."

"O-okay," Latvia said, "Bye, Iceland."

As he slipped out the door, he was certain Iceland did not know that he was still watching. For as he left, Iceland bowed his head, hanging limply from the chains that bound him fast. Latvia had always thought that Iceland was a fairly strong person. But for just a moment, the Nordic boy looked utterly defeated.

* * *

Estonia felt as if someone had punched him. The worst part was, he didn't dare show it on his face.

Latvia was ignoring him. When they had returned to their room, instead of going to talk to Estonia as he usually did, the tiny boy had gone to the window, where he stood staring out, his violet eyes blank as he grasped the bars.

"Lati…" Estonia murmured, "Why?"

There was no movement, no sign that the boy had heard him, and Estonia felt a deep, overwhelming despair well up inside of him. His worst fears were being realized. It seemed that Latvia was about to go insane, or perhaps worse, he was turning against Estonia and the others. And if that happened, the Estonian's most deeply hidden fear would be brought to life. He would be left alone, without Latvia, and in loneliness he, too, would doubtless lose his mind.

"Latvia… Raivis, please…"

No reply. No sound. Estonia wondered what he had done to deserve this from Latvia. He realized with a jolt just how deeply he cared for the small boy, how much it would hurt if Latvia left him alone.

Standing up, Estonia walked over to Latvia. As he stood behind the smaller boy, his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, grasping at Latvia's slim hand as he did so.

"_Palun, _Lati, don't leave me alone! Why won't you talk to me? What's wrong…?"

Latvia turned to him, his eyes like pale violet ice. Then, he wrenched his hand out of Estonia's grasp, and ran to the bathroom. Before Estonia could move, he heard the door lock.

Despair and pain threatened to overwhelm Estonia, and at that moment, he felt as if he ought to die at that moment rather than go on like this. He had promised himself that he would live as long as possible for Latvia's sake. But now, it seemed that Latvia hated him for no reason, and there was simply no point in going on.

_"I only wanted to take care of him… So why does he hate me? I just… I wanted to help… Why does it go wrong every time I try to help him? Why, Raivis…? Why…?"_

* * *

In the locked bathroom, Latvia slumped against the door, a heartfelt sob catching in his throat.

"Eddy, please don't hate me…" he murmured, staring down at his hands, "I can't help it. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to be the one holding the knife this time. I couldn't take it if I hurt you… Eddy, don't hate me… Please understand. I don't want to be like you. I don't want to hurt my friends the way you did."

As he sat there, images flashed through his mind. It seemed like a very long time ago, but at the same time, the past seemed to be right there in front of him.

_"Estonia? Why do you have a bandage where your heart is?"_

_"No reason." Latvia could remember hearing a forced lightness in Estonia's tone, and he had looked up at the Estonian, who was carrying him, only to hear a reply that told him nothing about what was actually going on. "It's just a little scratch."_

_ "I know you're not telling the truth. But that's okay, Estonia. You're my friend. I trust you, so it's okay."_

_Estonia had begun to cry, and it had frightened Latvia. He had tried to comfort the other boy, but it hadn't seemed to work._

_ "Estonia? Estonia, it's okay. You don't have to tell me."_

_"I c-can't tell you," Estonia had said, pain in his voice, "I can't."_

_"That's okay."_

_They had reached Estonia's bedroom, and Latvia knew that, due to the older boy's forced solitude at this time, he would have to be locked in._

_"If you put me down, I can…" _

_"Yeah… It would probably be a good idea for you to lock me in again."_

_"Are you okay?" Latvia remembered how worried he had been at that moment, even being cradled safely in Estonia's arms._

_"I'm fine…" _

Sobbing, Latvia cradled his head in his shaking hands.

"I don't want to be like you…" he whimpered, "I don't want to be like you, Eddy… I'm sorry, but I can't be like you… So I have to stop talking to everyone, so I can't hurt them… I can't lie to them… They might as well just see it if I'm going insane… They might as well know now instead of later… Right?"

* * *

Iceland's arms ached from being suspended above his head, hour after hour, never ceasing. Since Latvia had left, his cell had seemed even more quiet and isolated. The Nordic boy was used to isolation, but even so, he wished there was someone there, just so that he would know that he was not alone.

When someone finally did appear, however, Iceland immediately wished for his solitude to continue. Panem strode in, smiling widely.

"I'd like you to know that we've positively identified the bodies of all your friends," she sang, "Or are they your family? I'm a bit confused. You weren't related to them, were you?"

Iceland bit his lip to force himself to keep from replying. He did not want to think about what he'd seen, about his dead friends… Or his brother.

_"He was lying next to Denmark, and I think Denmark tried to save him, because only Norway's legs were buried… He bled to death, probably, and I was unconscious the whole time… I didn't even know what was happening."_

"Aw, Iceland, are you sad?" Panem asked, "What does it feel like? I don't really get sad about people dying, but all of you former nations seem awfully affected."

"That's because we're not heartless bastards!" Iceland snapped, his violet eyes flashing.

"Temper, temper," Panem said, "That'll be one slap for you."

She slapped Iceland across the face, and he felt himself blinking back unexpected tears. She had done this to him every day since his arrival, and by now, his head hurt terribly from the number of slaps and punches he had been dealt by Panem.

"Stop," he said, "Leave me alone."

"I thought you didn't want to be alone?" Panem asked.

"I prefer being alone," Iceland said, "It's quieter."

"It didn't look like you were enjoying it when we found you, crying beside your friends' bodies like a child that had lost its favorite toy," Panem said with a sadistic smirk. She slapped him again.

An agonized, strangled sob escaped before Iceland could stop it. Futilely, he strained against the chains, trying to break them, trying to reach Panem and wreak vengeance on her for what she had done.

"He was my brother," he said hoarsely, "Norway was my brother. You killed him. You killed Norway and Denmark, Sweden and Finland… I had every right to cry."

"I thought you were supposed to be the stoic one," Panem said, "You and Norway, stoic, intense, feelingless."

"I have feelings," Iceland growled, "And right now, the only thing I feel is hatred for you. _Murderer_."

"I prefer the term monster," Panem said, chuckling insanely, "It's so much more of a general term, you know? After all, I'm not just a murderer. I'm a torturer too, and more than that, I'm a person who is very deeply invested in the revenge business."

Iceland merely glared at her, the image of his brother and his friends lying dead burned into his mind. It was Panem who had done this. It was Panem who would pay, if he ever got free. He had tried to kill her the first day she had come to his cell, and since then, he had been restrained by heavy, unbreakable chains.

But he would eventually get free. And when he did, Panem would pay for what she had done to his family.

* * *

Lithuania awoke in a surprisingly comfortable bed. The Baltic boy was surprised to find himself in bed, and he was even more surprised to find himself apparently alive.

For a moment, he hoped that all of the past days' events had been a long, horrific dream, and that he really was safe in his own bed. But then, he felt an agonizing pain in his hand, and, glancing at his hands, saw that both were swathed in bandages.

So it had not been a dream. They really had been attacked. Panem really had tortured him, and, he thought, she really must have taken China and Belarus away.

Judging from the wounds in his hands and the aching pain in his ribs, Lithuania was not in either heaven or hell. But he could not understand how this could be. If he was not dead, where was he?

"H-hello?" the Lithuanian called softly, "Is anyone there?"

There was the sound of quick, heavy footsteps outside the closed door, and, a moment later, Russia was standing in the doorway. The large nation looked relieved, but his smile was abnormally absent.

"You are awake," he observed, "I am glad. I was being worried about you. A-are you okay, _Litva_?"

"I… I'm all right," Lithuania said, barely even noticing that Russia had slipped back into his habit of referring to the Lithuanian boy as Litva.

Russia nodded.

"That is of the goodness, da?"

"Y-yes," Lithuania agreed, "It is good."

There was a long pause, and in the silence, Russia came over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"What happened to you, little one?" he said quietly, his violet eyes boring into Lithuania, "Who hurt you?"

"Panem," Lithuania managed, the memory of the agony he had been put through less than a day before coming back to him all in a flash, "She… She tortured me and…kidnapped China and Belarus. I'm sorry, Russia. There was nothing I could…"

"It is not your fault," Russia said. A large hand reached out to pat Lithuania's head. "I am just… I am glad that it was not Belarus. I had seen the knives in your hands, and…"

"She wouldn't do that to me," Lithuania said, "I'm sure of it."

All in a flash, he remembered that Belarus _had_ knifed him through the hand once, at a world conference, before the world had fallen apart. But that was in the past, and he still wanted to believe that that incident had been an accident on Belarus' part.

"I had hoped not," Russia said, "But… You are saying that Panem has taken them?"

Lithuania nodded hesitantly.

"Yes. I… I'm so sorry, Russia… There wasn't anything I could do to…"

"Hush, _Litva_," Russia said, "It was not your fault. I know that, so do not be sad."

There was a pleading note in the tall Russian's voice as he continued, a desperation that almost frightened Lithuania.

"Do not blame yourself for the things you have not done wrong," he said, "Only blame yourself for what you have done."

"I didn't help them," Lithuania said, "I didn't save them."

"I know," Russia said, "But that does not make what happens to them your fault, does it?"

* * *

**Translations (I am so horrible at remembering to put these in):**

**Palun (Estonian)- Please**

**Litva (Russian) - Lithuania**

**OK, so I think Latvia is scared of hurting everyone when/if he goes insane. Which makes no sense to me. Because if so, why is he helping Iceland...? Ugh. I have no idea. I think this kid just went completely insane without any permission whatsoever.**


	14. Sever

**Well, obviously, I never did update last week. However, I did have a wonderful vacation, and am fully back into the swing of things again!**

**I find it amusing that no one figured out who Panem is starving, but, never fear, you will find out in this chapter. **

**So, without further rambling by me, "Written in Blood", Chapter 14!**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Sever

China had expected torture, and he had braced himself for physical injury. What he had not expected, however, was the dreadful pain in his stomach after two days in his cell without food or water. He had not expected that he would be abandoned in a cold, dark cell, perhaps forgotten by everyone. Perhaps he had been left to die. But he had not expected starvation, not at all.

He had not expected the weak, tired feeling, the thirst, the pain of slipping closer to death, in and out of a painful, starving, thirsty haze.

As the haze of pain grew thicker, though, China welcomed it. He was almost resigned to death, in this moment, because he would finally be able to rest, to sleep without worrying about might have happened in the world by the time he awoke. After four thousand years, China had grown very, very tired. He thought that this might not be such a bad fate-certainly not one as terrible as his younger siblings had suffered.

But on the second day, someone brought him out of the haze. Something cold and smooth was pressed to his lips, and as China looked up, blinking through tired, heavy eyelids, he saw none other than Estonia holding a glass of water to his lips.

"You look like you could use this," Estonia said, his voice oddly quiet and subdued, even for his usual demeanor.

"Thank you, aru," China said, taking a large gulp of water before he realized that it might be better to let himself die of thirst than to prolong whatever pain Panem had in store for him. Still, now that he had water in front of him, he was not quite ready to give up yet. The water brought a slight, revitalizing burst of life into his tired body, and he drank a little more, feeling more of his strength return to him.

There was a long pause, and as China drank, he could see Estonia watching him. There was a sad, tired look in the boy's eyes, an almost broken look, and China felt for Estonia. He remembered then that Lithuania had thought of Estonia as his brother. And then he remembered that Panem had told Lithuania that she had tortured and hurt Estonia.

"She didn't torture you, aru," China said.

Estonia's eyes clouded with fear and pain, and China realized that he was wrong.

"Why would you…? Oh, that's right. You were there when Panem told Lithuania that I'd gone mad, weren't you?"

There was a matter of fact note in the way Estonia spoke, but there was also pain there, and regret.

"She lied to him to make his final moments as painful as possible," Estonia said, and this time there was an unmistakable anguish in his voice.

He looked over at China, a desperate, half mad look in his eyes.

"Did she kill him? After she turned the camera off, did she…?"

China hesitated.

"I don't know, aru," he said slowly, "She knocked me out because I didn't want to…to leave him alone to die."

There was a long silence, and the turmoil in Estonia's eyes startled and hurt China, who wished yet again that he could find some way to rescue these children from this cruel place, and from the terrible fate that doubtless awaited them all.

"I see," Estonia said at last, "I hope he died quickly. But…"

He looked up at China, a sad half-smile on his face.

"Thank you for trying to save him. I'm sure that meant a lot to him, that someone would try to help."

"I should have tried harder," China said, "Maybe then, he…"

"No," Estonia said, "He would have died anyways. That idiot always was good at giving his life for others. They say that is the greatest kind of love. I…I think it's stupidity, but… I'd do it myself, if I was brave like he was."

There was a long, painful silence, and in that silence, China reached out to Estonia, his slim hand brushing across the boy's short hair. Estonia bowed his head, saying nothing, merely watching China through his sad, half-dulled eyes.

"Panem's placed you on a starvation diet," Estonia said at last, "You get one glass of water every two days. I'm to take the glass away when I leave. Can't have you finding some way to kill yourself with it, knowing she's slowly..."

"Don't feel bad about it, aru," China said, managing with difficulty to disguise how painful it was to realize that he was going to die, not quickly as Lithuania had, but slowly and in pain. For if he refused to drink the water that was brought to him, Panem would doubtless still find some way to make him drink just enough to keep him alive and in pain for as long as possible, all the while withholding food from him. And China knew, now, that with water in front of him, he would not be able to refuse it. He would drink whatever water Estonia brought to him, and thus would condemn himself to a longer, more painful torture.

"It's not your fault."

"Maybe not," Estonia said, "But it's still horrible."

Then, the blonde boy stood up. By this time, China's glass of water was empty.

"I'll see you in two days," Estonia murmured, the sad half-smile on his face again, "Take care, China."

China nodded, smiling softly in an effort to reassure Estonia. As the door closed behind the Baltic boy, however, China lay back wearily on the cold floor, all traces of a smile gone.

_"Two days until he returns… This will be a long, painful wait, aru."_

* * *

Belarus' sole wish at this moment in time was that she could reverse the clock. She had seen a film somewhere, a long time ago, in which a girl had the power to heal wounds and reverse the aging process, among other gifts. Now, she wished to have those powers, and not only that, she wished for the power to reverse time itself, sending her back to a time when she could change the course of history.

She also wished that she could throttle Panem. She wanted, more than anything, to see the girl die as brutally as possible. Her sister-Ukraine-was dead. Lithuania was also dead. She herself was in prison. And it was Panem's fault.

She managed to keep from breaking down completely, however, until the second day. She had been left alone before then, other than Latvia's brief, stammering intrusions.

But sometime after the small boy had left, on the second day, there was a buzz of static from somewhere above her, and then, a recording began to play.

She did not realize what it was at first, but then, she heard the high-pitched, nervous voice amid the static, heard an agonized scream, and she knew with a horrible certainty that Panem was trying to break her. How Panem even knew that this would break her, Belarus had no idea. But as she sat there, in the half-darkness of her cell, trying not to listen, she felt herself drifting dangerously close to an overwhelming despair.

It was Lithuania, of course, whom she had to listen to scream over and over again. Somehow, Panem had managed to figure out that playing the audio from the Baltic boy's torture and probable death was the best way to break Belarus.

Maybe it had been something in her eyes, or in her voice, that had alerted Panem that there was far more to the situation than Belarus' apparent hatred for Lithuania. In any case, Panem had picked up on Belarus' feelings, and was now using them against her.

And now, Belarus had no choice but to remember, over and over, exactly how Panem had tortured Lithuania.

_"After everything… The person I loved the most hated me. I…I think I did something to make her angry with me… I don't know what, but it must have been horrible… And anyways, no one needs me… Not anymore… So… I… I want to die because… Because I don't have anything to live for…"_

"Make it stop…" Belarus murmured, "I don't want to hear it anymore…"

She did care. She did not hate him. She should have told him so. She knew all this, but Lithuania was dead and it did not matter, and if the sounds of his torture did not stop, she would go insane.

Perhaps she was already insane. Perhaps she had been insane from the very beginning, and it was this insanity that had led her to believe that what she had done would not irreparably damage Lithuania. She had underestimated his love for her, it seemed, and at this moment, she wanted to reverse time, so that somehow, she could have at the very least shown him that she cared. She wanted to have been able to comfort him, just once, to tell him…

"He is dead," Belarus whispered, her voice choked, "What you wanted does not matter. Lithuania. Is. Dead."

But if Lithuania was dead, then why was not his memory dead also? Why could she not forget?

_"Don't act like you care…" _

"I did care…" Belarus choked out, "I did. I'm sorry."

_"Belarus, _why _did you hurt me, in the end…? I don't understand… I don't understand any of this… It hurts…"_

Hearing those words repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time, Belarus buried her head in her hands, her knees tucked up close to her chest. She was shaking, sobbing, and she wanted the recording to stop. She wanted to put the dreadful, painful memory far from her and, if she could forget that memory, she would never look back.

But she _had_ to look back, because there was that voice, familiar and kind and _hurt_. And at that moment, Belarus had never blamed herself for anything more than she blamed herself for what had happened to Lithuania.

_"I'm sorry! I'm so very sorry! Please, just let me die!"_

Belarus began to cry.

"I-if I had just t-tried to save him… To s-show him I c-cared… W-would he h-have wanted to l-live…?"

* * *

England missed his magic desperately. It had been so useful, being able to use magic to get out of a tight situation. Of course, even magic had limits, and he would eventually have had to pay some sort of price for the overuse of his gift. But he would have made that sacrifice gladly to get America and the others out of this dreadful prison.

For the past two days, Estonia had brought them their food, and seeing pain and fear in the Baltic boy's every movement had rekindled England's anger.

Now, though, he was not only angry, but frightened. He was now handcuffed to a table, but the odd thing was that he was allowed to sit in a chair. Only his hands were secured, cuffed directly to the table. It frightened him, not knowing what Panem might do.

He was also painfully aware, by this time, that America would be forced to watch whatever was in store for him. Whether it be live or on video, whatever happened here, America would see it. And that made England even more determined to stay strong, if he could.

_"I'm England. I am the United Kingdom. I'm an empire, I'm strong, I'm… Nothing, anymore."_

His mental pep talk had failed miserably. But if he could only remember that he must stay strong for America, it would be all right.

As if to prove him wrong, the door slid open, revealing a smiling Panem. England hated that girl's smile. It always meant that something horrible was going to happen, whether to him or to someone else, it did not matter. Panem's smile was frightening and dangerous.

"Hello, England," Panem said, sliding into the chair across from him, "How are those burns healing up?"

Involuntarily, England winced. His burns were still not fully healed, and every time they were mentioned, he found painful memories rising unbidden to haunt him.

_"Flames. So many flames, throughout history, and there were some directed against me as a person, not me as a nation… It was frightening…"_

He bit his lip, hard, trying to disguise his discomfort.

"Not too well, I presume, judging by the pathetic whimpering noise you're making," Panem commented, "Well, let's see if we can't boost your mood. I have a little something in store today that may not be as frightening to you as flames… But I think it will scare your precious America."

_"So he is watching. Whatever happens, America will see…"_

"Do your worst!" England snapped, "I don't care what you do to me, but leave him out of this!"

"No can do," Panem said with a quiet laugh, "I'm doing this to get my revenge on him, after all. I couldn't let him miss the show."

Reaching into her pocket, the girl drew out a long, glistening knife.

"I love playing with people's hands," she commented, "Fingers… Such delicate things. Have you ever lost one, England? I'm told that on a nation, they regenerate. But…"

There it was again. That frightening, wicked smile.

"You're not a nation anymore, are you?"

England bit his lip harder. He would not scream. It was not as if he could cast magic anymore, anyways. What were a few fingers…?

It was quick, and the pain came a few seconds after it happened. England had just a second to stare in a detached manner at his own severed fingertip. And then the pain hit him. He had never realized before just how much it hurt to have a finger cut off.

There was a tangy, interesting taste in his mouth, and it took him a moment to realize that his lip had begun to bleed. But he had not screamed. Although his lip was now bloody, he had not screamed.

"Ooh," Panem said, seeming incredibly interested in England's severed fingertip, "That came off really easily! I like this!"

She poked at the fingertip, which England decided to stop thinking of as his own. It did not belong to him anymore, anyways.

It hurt more when the other half of his finger joined the first half, and he whimpered slightly as he bit his already bleeding lip, trying desperately not to break down and beg Panem to stop, to not maim him any further.

He wondered how far she would go. He had already lost his smallest finger, and he wondered… How many more would join it before this torture was over? How long would it be until he screamed, and America heard it? He did not want the boy to witness this.

There was so much blood…

* * *

America had never thought that he would be given a reason to hate television. But now, he had a very good reason.

Watching someone being tortured in live and in person and watching the torture on a television were only different when you didn't know the person being tortured. And America knew England very, very well.

Or, at least, he thought he did. He was slightly confused, though, at England's repeated insistence that he, America, be left out of these torture sessions. As far as America knew, England thought of him as an idiot, and improbably as the kid he had raised. But as a friend? As a brother? That thought had rarely crossed America's mind, considering the way England generally behaved toward him, but now it would not leave him alone.

Did England actually care?

It wasn't the world's most important question now, considering the circumstances, and America had no choice but to turn back to the television.

England only had four fingers on his right hand now. There was a lot of blood, more blood than America had known anyone had in their hands, and as he watched, Panem raised an already bloodstained knife.

America winced and looked away, but not fast enough. He saw the knife slash down out of the corner of his eye, saw half of one of England's fingers lying on the tabletop with the two halves of his smallest finger.

"Don't hurt him…" America whispered pleadingly, knowing that he could do nothing, but not wanting to think about it, "Please. Why him? You don't even hate him! Come on, why…?"

He had to admire England's bravery, although it was agonizing to watch and know that it was his own fault that the older man was being tortured like this. England still had not screamed, and he did not scream until the fourth cut. When he did scream, it was surprisingly loud, and America realized that the older man had been deliberately_ trying_ not to scream.

_"Why? For me? Because he doesn't want me to know he's hurt? But that's stupid… Well, I would do that, if… If I could. Which I probably couldn't. I'm not strong enough…"_

There was unmistakable, acute agony in England's eyes, and it hurt America more than anything else. More than seeing Lithuania die, more than seeing how much Panem had screwed with Latvia's mind in such a short time. Seeing England tortured like this, knowing that it was because of _his_ failure, was nearly unbearable for America.

He tried to be strong. But it was too much, seeing England in pain, trying so very hard not to scream because he did not want America to hear this, did not want him to see this, did not want him even to know about this. England, it seemed, was trying not to scream for the sole purpose of sparing _America_ as much pain as possible.

It hurt too much. America began to cry, barely paying any attention to the events on the TV screen. It did not matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was that England was being tortured for the third time, because of him. Because he had failed.

In that moment, America decided that he had to find a way to become the one being tortured at every turn. Somehow…

_"That's the only thing I can do. I have to somehow get Panem to torture me. If I can only do that… Then maybe I can still be the hero? Maybe? Please, please, I have to find a way… There must be a way… I have to save the others… I have to save England… Somehow… Please…"_

* * *

England was barely conscious of what was going on around him as the guards walked him back to his cell. Everything around him seemed oddly foggy, and he felt almost as if he was completely detached from the world.

Then, the cell door opened, and he was shoved in. Brought back to reality with a cruel jerk, England tried to catch himself, but ended up on the floor, letting out a quiet whimper as his mangled hand collided with the flooring.

He had only two fingers on his right hand, now. Panem had assured him that he would soon have no hands at all, but England did not quite believe her. There was only so much she could do to him without it getting dull for her. He doubted that he would have more fingers removed anytime soon.

"England…" America's voice was oddly subdued, and as the boy crouched in front of him, England saw unsuppressed agony in America's eyes.

"I'm sorry," America whispered. The hug England received then nearly crushed him, but he fought down the pained gasp as his healing burns were once again subjected to the pressure of America's embrace.

"Iggy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" America was sobbing. America, who never cried, was crying. Again. And England did not know what to do, although his first instinct was to comfort the boy, who was, after all, just a child caught up in a bloody war.

"It's not your fault," he said, although he knew that, in a way, it was, "You didn't know what you were doing."

That at least was true. America really _hadn't_ known what he was doing to Panem by ignoring her in the way that he had… Had he? England did not believe that the younger boy knew what he had been doing. No, judging from America's actions now, he had not realized what was going on until it was already much too late…

"She hurt you," America said, his voice choked with tears, "She just keeps hurting you… And I'm so sorry for what I did, I really am, but she won't listen, and anyways, there's no reason she should forgive me, but… Iggy, I'm _sorry_!"

England reached up with his left hand, stroking America's hair.

"It's fine. I don't mind, America. Better me than you, naturally. You're just a child, so there's no reason…"

"I am not just a child," America whispered fiercely, "And I'm gonna prove it to you."

England felt an unexpected rush of pure horror.

"Alfred…"

"No, Iggy, listen to me!" America's voice was determined beneath the brokenness, and England was afraid for him, for the boy who, it was clear, was about to make a foolish choice.

"I don't know how yet, but I'm going to make sure Panem hurts me instead of you," America said, "However long it takes, I'll find a way…"

"I told you, I don't care what happens to me…" England was cut off by America, who had pushed him away slightly, presumably in order to look him in the eye.

"I _can't_ care what happens to me anymore," America said, "England, don't you see…? I just want to save you… I want to save everyone. And taking the torture for you and anyone else I can… Becoming like Lithuania was… That's the only way left."

* * *

Later that day, Latvia watched as Estonia cried his eyes out. He knew the other boy thought he was asleep, or not paying attention, but he could see every bit of the pain on Estonia's face. He could hear the blonde Baltic's sobs and he had to wonder if Estonia was crying over what he, Latvia, had done, or about something else entirely.

"Raivis…" Estonia's voice was quiet, choked, agonized, "W-why…?"

So it was about him. He had made Estonia cry. Latvia almost felt guilty, but, he remembered, it would be okay. He just needed to die before he went insane, or he needed to kill Panem. The latter would be impossible. And death… He was not brave enough to consign himself willingly to death.

_"If I can just stay away, I won't stab him and shoot him and kill him… He'll die if I go insane. I think it'll kill him if he sees that happen to me. So I have to make him not care… I have to… Oh my God, Belarus!"_

It struck Latvia suddenly that Belarus might well have had the same plan that he had now, only in regards to Lithuania. And if that was so, then his plan was doomed. For Estonia might not cease to care, and if he did not grow cold toward Latvia, then all this was in vain.

"But I don't wanna go insane!" Latvia whimpered, and he must have said the words aloud, for suddenly, Estonia was sitting up, his eyes red, his face tearstained.

"You won't go insane," he said quietly, "I won't let Panem hurt you."

"You'll become Lithuania for me!" Latvia shouted, suddenly angry with Estonia, who was supposed to be the smart one, but who seemed to understand nothing of what was going on inside his head, "That's all you'll do!"

He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the effect his next words would have on Estonia.

"You can't take it," he said, his voice still raised, "You can't do that for me. I saw, Eddy. I saw you go insane once. I don't want to let it happen again, so I won't. But I won't be like you, either! I'm stronger than you. I'm not going to end up like you."

There was a long, tense silence.

"So you do hate me," Estonia said quietly, "I thought you might."

Latvia said nothing.

_"If he thinks I hate him, he'll hate me, and… And he won't try so hard to protect me. He won't worry so much, and he won't go insane… And then if I go insane, it won't matter to him."_

"I… I should have known you wouldn't forgive me for it," Estonia said, "You never did, did you? Why? Because I tried to protect you… Or because I did it the wrong way?"

The Estonian's eyes filled with tears, and the agonized look on his face was painful to Latvia, who wished at that moment that he were anywhere else but here, with Estonia.

"I'm sorry," Estonia said, "I tried. But… I… I'm sorry, Raivis."

Latvia said nothing. But he, too, was terribly sorry, not for what Estonia had done, but for what had happened to them all. He wished again that he were somewhere else, or better yet, that he were dead.

He wished that he were anywhere else but this prison, watching Estonia cry. He wished that they were not both going insane.

* * *

Lithuania tried to avoid situations where he might be attacked or injured. They did things to him, those kinds of situations. He would wake up in the night, frightened, half-mad, and it hurt to even _think_ about his dreams, but of course he had to think about it, because he had just relived some of his life's most traumatic moments in nightmares.

Such was this night. Lithuania woke in darkness, and for one long moment, he could not remember where he was or why he was crying.

Then, he made the mistake of moving his hand. Pain shot through his hand, down to his fingertips and up his arm.

And he remembered his dream. His dream that was not a dream. And for one moment, he could not recall whether he had dreamed of this memory, or whether what he remembered had happened just now.

Frightened, he ran to the bathroom, which was just down the hall from his room. Throwing the light on, he ran over to the mirror, holding up his hands to it.

He still had ten fingers. He still had all of his fingers. There were bandages on his hands, but he remembered now that it was _Panem_ who had tortured him and left him to die, and he knew that his dream was just a dream. It was only a dream, that is, if you did not think about the fact that it had happened.

Shaking, Lithuania sank down onto the cold floor, his knees tucked close to his chest.

"It's all right…" he murmured, his voice trembling nearly as much as he was, "It was a dream. You just dreamed it, that's all."

"What were you dreaming?" asked a puzzled voice, "And why would you be sitting on the floor at this early time?"

"Russia, please, go back to bed," Lithuania said, keeping his voice low, "I don't… I _can't_…"

He could not talk to Russia now. Not after that dream. He did not even wish to _see_ Russia, let alone hold a civil conversation with him at three o'clock in the morning.

"Are you being all right…?"

"No!" Lithuania said, raising his head and staring desperately up at Russia, "I am not all right! There happen to be a lot of things that trigger me, and being attacked and hurt by people is one of those things! Please, Russia, leave me alone…"

He saw the hurt in Russia's eyes, and he also saw a flash of understanding.

"If that is what you would like," Russia murmured, "But you should go back to your bed. This floor is not a very comfortable one."

With this piece of advice, Russia left, leaving Lithuania sitting on the floor, still shaking.

"I know about bathroom floors," he said quietly, "I've spent a bit of time… Lying on my bathroom floor at home… W-watching myself bleed… And actually enjoying it."

He laughed softly, bitterly.

"Hurting myself… Suicide attempts… Those were the days, eh? Of course, now that I _can_ die… I…can't just _leave him_! He needs me!"

Then, sitting on the cold bathroom floor, alone in the only lighted room in what was probably an apartment somewhere, Lithuania began to cry, perhaps harder than he had ever cried before.

Unseen by him, on the other side of the half-opened bathroom door, Russia watched. He was crying, too.

* * *

**OK, so, I just realized that I completely forgot that France and Canada existed. I'll have to work a scene with them into the next chapter.**

**Thank you all for your amazing reviews so far! They really make my day, and it's nice to see such supportive reviewers! :)**


	15. Glass

**Hi! So, this would be a chapter...**

**What to say here? Nothing much... **

**One note: more gory things in this chapter. Gory things involving someone under age eighteen. I would rate this chapter as more violent than most if not all of the chapter so far, but... Yeah. It's not _that_ bad, honest...**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Glass

Estonia wanted to die, or else he wanted to erase the fear and agony of mind that was threatening to drive him mad.

He was no longer sure why Latvia hated him. He could not even tell if the little boy _did_ hate him. But he knew-or, at least, he believed-that Latvia hated him for what he had done in the past.

_"I tried to help. I did. I just did it wrong. I'm sorry, I knew you would never forgive me, but I wanted to help you…"_

He also remembered that Latvia had always said that he, Latvia, and not Estonia, was the useless one. But perhaps all the while, he had lied, and he had always believed that Estonia was useless, and, worse than that, evil.

And he remembered most vividly that Latvia had saved his life, a very long time ago. He had his sanity now only because of Latvia. And now, without the comfort that the small boy provided, that sanity was going away very, very quickly.

He thought Latvia was afraid of something, but of what? Of him? Of the insanity that plagued them all?

It occurred to Estonia suddenly that out of Russia's little 'family', the majority had now lost their minds, to never fully possess sanity again. It seemed Ukraine was the only sane one left.

And Ukraine, of course, really could not be sane now, considering that she was dead, and, hopefully, had found peace somewhere or other.

Suddenly, Estonia wanted to see Ukraine, remembering that she had been his friend. He desperately needed a friend now.

But all his friends were dead, or else, hated him.

He was in the prison's kitchen now, with Latvia. For a moment, Estonia had taken his eyes of the small boy, and when he looked back at him, he was astonished to see the Latvian climbing onto a counter, rummaging in the cupboard above it.

"Latvia!" Estonia gasped, slightly frightened that the boy might fall, "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to see what was in the cupboards," Latvia said, and Estonia cursed the boy's curious nature.

"Hey, Eddy, look!"

Pulling something out of the cupboard, Latvia waved it about jubilantly. As far as Estonia could tell, it was a bottle of some sort of alcohol. Knowing Latvia, it was probably vodka. He seemed to like the stuff, and appeared to like getting drunk on it as well. Estonia, however, did not care for getting drunk. Those days were over and done, as was the headache he had gotten after drinking, the one time Latvia had convinced him to get drunk.

"Put that back," Estonia said wearily, "You can't drink it. It's not yours. Now get down, before you fall."

"You can't tell me what to do," Latvia said, waving the bottle around again, "Besides, I'm not doing any harm…"

Suddenly, Latvia's eyes widened, and he began to shiver. As he knelt on the counter, his entire body trembling, the bottle slipped through his shaking fingers and fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

Estonia knew from Latvia's shaking that Panem must be standing in the doorway, and that she had seen the tiny boy drop the bottle on the floor.

"That was pretty stupid of you," said Panem's voice, "Get down from there, Latvia."

Frightened and trembling, Latvia complied, staring pleadingly at Panem.

"I'm s-sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "I-I'll walk across the s-shards if you want…"

"Hmm…" Panem hummed thoughtfully, "That's not a bad idea, Latvia. But…"

She glanced at Estonia, who returned her gaze with a glare.

"I promised Estonia that I wouldn't harm you."

She smiled, a huge, frightening grin.

"So, _Estonia_. Socks and shoes off, now."

Latvia's eyes widened in horror.

"No!" the tiny Baltic cried, "No! I broke that bottle, not him! D-don't hurt him! Please!"

Ignoring Latvia, Estonia began to untie his shoelaces, his hands shaking. He had never had to walk across glass shards before, but he had seen Latvia do it before, and he knew from witnessing Latvia being tortured in this way that it would be exceedingly painful.

"Panem!" Latvia sobbed, "Don't make Eddy do that!"

"Eddy?" Panem asked, "My, my, you two are awfully close, aren't you? Too bad. Sorry I can't torture you, but I made a deal with him, so you'll just have to watch him suffer."

"No!" Latvia shrieked, "Please!"

By this time, Estonia was barefoot, his shoes and socks discarded.

"It's fine," he murmured, clenching his fists, "I don't care what she does to me. See, Latvia? Maybe if I try hard to protect you and don't go insane this time, you'll forgive me. Maybe not. I don't know. But I'm still going to protect you."

"E-Eddy…"

"Hurry up, will you?" Panem said impatiently, interrupting Latvia, "I haven't got all day."

Estonia drew a long, shuddering breath. Then, hesitantly, he placed one foot on top of the glass shards. Estonia winced, and it took all his willpower not to pull his foot back. He placed his other foot on the glass. It hurt a great deal. The glass shards bit into his bare feet, and after a few steps, Estonia could feel shards becoming embedded in his feet.

He glanced at Latvia, and saw that the tiny boy was staring at him wide-eyed, tears running down his cheeks.

_"Almost as if he really cared…"_

Panem stood behind Latvia, smirking, and playing with the boy's curly hair.

Estonia did not know how long it took before he made a sound. He only knew that when he did utter any noise, it came in the form of a despairing, sobbing whimper.

"Please… Please no more," he whimpered. Every step was agony, and the shards embedded in his feet went in deeper every time he put pressure on them.

"You keep going until you can't any longer," Panem said with a laugh, "Keep walking."

Estonia paused for a moment, staring at Latvia, who stared back desperately. The look in the tiny boy's eyes hurt Estonia, because he thought he saw remorse there. As if it were Latvia's fault that Panem was torturing him…

He continued walking, whimpering and crying out with every step. It hurt too much to keep silent, now, and he could see a trail of blood on the floor where he had walked before.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his legs gave out, and he fell to the ground, unable to move any further. There was glass cutting into his hands now, but he barely cared. His feet hurt too much for any other pain to be noticeable.

"Please, I can't do this anymore," he sobbed, "If you won't let me stop, then please kill me."

"Kill you?" Panem said, smiling, "No. I won't do that. Get up, Estonia."

He tried, but his legs were shaking so much that he could barely move, let alone stand up.

"I… I can't," he sobbed, "I'm sorry. Please…"

"Get up," Panem repeated, "Or I'll make this more painful for you than anything you've ever experienced."

Sobbing, Estonia tried to stand, only to fall back, hearing the glass crunch underneath him.

"I can't do it," he whispered, staring at his hands, not looking at Latvia or Panem, "Kill me."

"You and Lithuania both?" Panem asked, "You Baltics are awfully into dying, aren't you? But you're forgetting something, Estonia. If you die, then a certain little boy is left all alone."

Her voice was growing louder, and Estonia realized with a jolt that she was standing right next to him. He looked up at her, just in time to see her smile wickedly, just in time to see her booted foot move.

Placing her foot on the back of Estonia's hand, Panem pressed down, crushing the Estonian boy's hand into the glass below him. She moved her foot slightly, grinding the glass further in. Estonia sobbed quietly. Faintly, he could hear Latvia pleading Panem to stop, but all he really registered was the pain and the feeling of glass being ground into the palm of his hand.

"P-please…" he whispered. He did not even know what he was pleading for. Death? Help? Perhaps he simply wished for Lithuania or Ukraine, or even Finland, to come and tell him that he would be okay. Not that Finland knew about all that had happened to Estonia, not for certain. Or, at least, Estonia hoped Finland had never found out. He at least had never spoken of it to the Finnish man.

But that did not matter. Finland, Ukraine, and Lithuania were dead. There was no one to take care of him now. There was only Panem, with her cruel smile and malicious ways. And there was Latvia, sobbing in the background, pleading with Panem.

Panem lifted her foot from Estonia's hand, and he relaxed his fingers, believing it was finally over. Just as he did so, Panem slammed her foot down again, hard and fast and painful.

Estonia screamed, feeling at least one of the bones in his hand give way beneath Panem's heavy, booted foot.

"Please! Stop! It hurts!"

"Speaking Estonian again?" Panem sang, "I can't understand you!"

She walked over in front of him, and Estonia watched her through half-closed eyes, wondering what she would do to him next.

The whole painful process-the crushing, grinding, stomping agony-was repeated on Estonia's other hand as he wailed in agony, painfully aware of Latvia's presence and of the fact that this would continue until Panem got bored and went away.

His hands, bleeding from both the palms and the backs, now, were broken and shaking, as was the rest of his body. Estonia nearly fell face-first onto the glass beneath him, but he barely managed to stay upright, with a tremendous, painful effort that nearly sapped his remaining strength.

"That'll be all for now," Panem said, finally removing her foot from Estonia's hand, "Now, Estonia. I have a task for you to complete."

Estonia could barely see through his tears, but he made out the smirk on Panem's face, and realized that his torture was not yet at an end.

"Put on your socks and shoes," Panem said, "You'll need to feed Belarus and Iceland today, along with America and England. I need to have a little chat with Latvia. Don't worry, he won't be harmed. So, get on with it."

"I can't stand up," Estonia whispered pleadingly, "Please…"

"Get on with your task, you worthless boy," Panem said contemptuously, "If you don't, I'll do to Latvia what I just did to you, and worse."

Estonia knew then that he had no choice. He willed his bleeding, half-crushed hands to move, and they did. He somehow managed to pull himself to his feet, agonized sobs escaping as his brutalized feet met the floor again.

He stumbled off the glass trail and over to the wall, where he had left his socks and shoes. Knowing what Panem expected of him, he pulled on his socks, wincing as the soft material caught on the glass shards that were still embedded in his feet.

His shoes were harder. Gritting his teeth, Estonia wrenched the first shoe over his foot. There was already blood leaking through his socks, and the Baltic boy shrieked in pain as he tried to put his shoe on. The task was made harder because of his shaking, bleeding hands, which also had glass embedded in them.

Finally, though, he managed to get both shoes on. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, and he felt so tired…

But there was a job to be done, and he must do it, or tiny Latvia would pay. And although what Latvia had done to him recently had hurt Estonia deeply, he still cared for the boy.

Shaking, Estonia stood up, stumbling over to lean against the cupboard as he groped for a plate, his hands trembling badly.

_"It hurts… Oh, it hurts so much… Lithuania, where…? No, he's dead, he can't save you now… It _hurts_…"_

* * *

When Estonia finally left, stumbling off down the corridor and leaving only bloodstains behind, Latvia remained, staring blankly at the shattered glass that still remained on the floor. The bloodstains were very thick there, and the boy cursed himself for his clumsiness and for the foolishness that had led him to take the bottle out of the cupboard in the first place. He sank down against the wall, sobbing.

"Did you like that, little Latvia?" Panem asked, coming over and crouching in front of him.

"You… You hurt him," Latvia choked, "You hurt him for what _I_ did! Why?"

"He needs it," Panem said, smiling, "He needs to be brought down a peg or two. He's the kind of guy who needs to be shown that he isn't so important to the survival of the world as he thinks he is. But you… You're almost too cute to torture. Of course, I _would_ torture you… But I made a deal with Eddy."

"You can't call him Eddy!" Latvia said, his voice full of childish anger, "Only I can call him that!"

"Why?" Panem asked, "What makes you so special?"

"He's _my _Eddy," Latvia said, "I love him."

There was a long, strange silence, and Latvia began to wonder if he had said something wrong. Then, Panem burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's hilarious!" she said between hysterical giggles, "I wonder what he'd think if he heard you say that!"

Latvia blinked.

"Huh? What are you laughing about…?"

Panem's hysterical laughter made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"What's so funny?" Latvia demanded.

Panem blinked at him for a moment, then shook her head.

"You really have no idea, do you?" she asked, suddenly serious.

"No…" Latvia said, "I don't know what's so funny at all. You're weird."

"You saying you love Estonia when you've been acting the way you have toward him!" Panem giggled, "It's hysterical!"

"I guess I haven't been very nice to him…" Latvia murmured, looking away from Panem. Then, suddenly, he was glaring right at her, his eyes narrowed.

"But it's your fault that I tried to make him hate me! You… You…"

The Latvian's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm scared of going insane because of _you_!"

"Aw, poor old you," Panem said with mock sympathy. She reached out a hand, petting his curly hair, and Latvia had no way to escape her.

"You might be even more amusing insane than you are just sitting there being pathetic, innocent, and cute," Panem said, "Who knows? I may have to see what you'd be like insane, Latvia. But don't worry. I'll wait until after Estonia's dead to start playing torture games with you."

Latvia felt a sense of overwhelming dread.

_"She's gonna kill Eddy…"_

"Why?" he asked, his tone quiet and agonized, "Why would you kill him?"

"Because he's expendable," Panem said, still stroking Latvia's hair, "I have a lot of fun plans for you, Latvia. And, in the end, they don't involve Estonia in any way."

* * *

England was frightened, not for himself, but for America, who still seemed determined to embark upon a mission to save the rest of the world, probably at the cost of his own life. The boy had lapsed into a surprisingly thoughtful silence, from which England had begun to doubt he would ever emerge.

As he sat alone, watching America, wondering what wild ideas were running through the boy's head, England heard the cell door squeak open. Glancing over toward the door, he saw Estonia, as he had hoped he would. Estonia was a safe person-there would be no torture if it was only Estonia there. Estonia was safe. Estonia brought food.

But it seemed that there was something off about Estonia, and although it took England a moment to identify the exact cause of Estonia's discomfort, he knew immediately that something had happened to the Baltic boy.

"Estonia, are you all right?" he asked. His voice, although quiet, was evidently too loud for the nervous teen, who jumped, clearly startled. As Estonia's body jerked, the tray of food slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a crash that made even America jump.

Estonia moaned quietly, being to pick up the tray. As the boy extended his fingers downward, England saw that Estonia's hands were stained blood red, appearing to be deeply cut.

He tried to stand, to go over and identify the cause of Estonia's injuries, but almost before he could move, America was with Estonia, bending to pick up the food and place it back on the plates.

"Good thing the floor's concrete or something," the blonde American commented, "Otherwise we might've gotten dirt all in the food, and that would be bad. It'll be fine this way, though."

"I'm sorry," Estonia whispered, his voice quiet and agonized, "T-that was clumsy of me."

"You're bleeding," England said, going over to kneel next to Estonia and America, "What happened?"

"Oh, wow… You are bleeding!" America announced, slightly unnecessarily, "What happened to you?"

England had assumed that, in his new status as Panem's servant, Estonia would have remained exempt from torture. He saw now that he was wrong, and that the Estonian boy was being subjected to some form of torment, just as the others were.

"I'm all right," Estonia said quietly, pulling his hands out of America's line of sight, but not out of England's, "It's nothing much."

In an almost detached manner, England realized that there were shards of...was that _glass_ embedded in Estonia's hands?

"What the bloody hell did she do to you?" he gasped, reaching for Estonia's hand, intending to examine it more closely. The moment he touched the boy, however, Estonia pulled away.

"Don't," Estonia murmured, "It hurts. Please don't touch me."

"Is there freaking_ glass_ in your hands?" America asked, peering over England's shoulder.

Estonia, still kneeling on the ground, looked down at the floor, and England saw a tear fall from the boy's eyes, splashing onto the floor beneath him.

"Latvia broke something," Estonia whispered, sounding almost numb, and, at the same time, broken, "I made a deal with Panem… Well, she made a deal with me. She isn't allowed to touch Latvia, so… She made me…"

He looked up, staring into England's eyes.

"You think my hands look bad?" he whispered, "My feet are _so much worse_."

"She made you walk across glass shards!" England exclaimed, suddenly understanding. America cursed loudly, and then, unexpectedly, the tall boy stepped around England, kneeling closer to Estonia, who watched him with a wary, frightened expression.

"You poor kid…" America murmured, and England could not help but realize that America was maturing in the most terrible way possible. Instead of being allowed to come to mental maturity naturally, the American boy had been forced to grow up mentally in this horrible place in order to stay sane.

"I can maybe get it out…" America offered, but Estonia shook his head.

"No. I'll get it out myself. She'll probably punish me more if I let you help me. I… I'll manage. I just have to feed Belarus and Iceland…"

Another tear, and England had to wonder if it was Latvia who usually fed the others, if Estonia was being punished by being made to walk the long hallway to the kitchen twice more than usual.

"…Then I can go back to my room. I'll get the glass out then."

"E-Estonia…"

America was crying, too. England could hear it in his voice, and he felt helpless, an observer who could do nothing but watch silently as America reached up, and, in an uncharacteristically calm gesture, gently embraced Estonia, who almost immediately tried to pull away.

"Lithuania would be proud of you," America murmured, and England watched, then, as all signs of resistance to America's attempt at comfort ceased. Estonia seemed to almost collapse, his head suddenly resting on America's shoulder as he began to sob aloud.

"Ssh… You're okay…" America said soothingly, still being incredibly gentle with the fragile, seemingly breakable Estonian, "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."

Watching them, England nearly began to cry himself. He saw clearly, terribly, that these children were being forced to grow up, to take on burdens that not even a mature adult should have to bear. And there seemed to be no way to save them.

* * *

It was near noon, now, and Lithuania still had not awakened. Russia had waited quietly in the darkness outside the bathroom door until the brunet Baltic's sobbing murmurs ceased. He had known, then, that Lithuania would most likely hate him for trying to stay, for watching over him during the night. But he had had no choice. He had to stay with Lithuania, to make sure that the only person he had left would not leave him, too.

It was, however, not simply for his own selfish wishes that he stayed. For although Russia hated being alone, he also hated the thought of Lithuania dying, even if it would not have meant that he, Russia, would be left all alone. He saw clearly in his mind the image of Lithuania with a gun to his own head, and realizing that the boy's suicide attempts had continued after Lithuania had left him was a terrible thing for Russia. He remembered, suddenly, that he had glimpsed bandages around Lithuania's wrists at the world conferences for months-perhaps years-after the boy had left him. He had never thought much of them, but he had wondered why Lithuania wore bandages. Now, he knew.

He had stayed last night, watching over Lithuania, because he could not bear the thought of the boy with the sunshine eyes taking his own life.

And when Lithuania's sobs had ceased, only then had Russia opened the bathroom door, to find Lithuania curled up on the floor, asleep. There was not a trace of a smile on the boy's face, merely a melancholy, distant look.

Russia wanted to go and check on Lithuania now, but remembering the boy's words from the night before, he could not bring himself to. He was not certain that he could face Lithuania, not after what the boy had said.

_"No! I am not all right! There happen to be a lot of things that trigger me, and being attacked and hurt by people is one of those things! Please, Russia, leave me alone…"_

He knew that he was the reason that Lithuania had been triggered by being attacked by Panem. He knew that he, Russia, was the sole reason that Lithuania had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, had cried himself to sleep while lying there, alone and cold.

He realized that he was not the only one who was being haunted by nightmares of their past. It seemed that both he and Lithuania, at least, carried permanent, mental scars from that time. Lithuania, no doubt, still had physical scars as well.

"Ivan."

He froze, stiffening. That was Lithuania's voice, but it was too quiet, and it was so unsure… And there was a startlingly cold note in the boy's voice, almost as if he was angry…or trying very hard to disguise his emotions.

"_Litva_," Russia murmured, turning to see Lithuania standing in the doorway of the kitchen where he sat, "H… How are you feeling at this time?"

"I'm all right," Lithuania said quietly.

Russia fumbled for the coffeepot, which was sitting in the middle of the table, and began searching for a mug. There _must_ be a mug somewhere…

"I… I have made coffee," he said brightly, smiling at Lithuania with an enthusiasm he did not feel, "Would you be liking some?"

Lithuania nodded quietly, and reached for the coffeepot, evidently intending to pour himself some coffee.

"I will do it," Russia said, and Lithuania retreated, sitting down at the far end of the small table. Russia busied himself with the coffee, and, handing it to Lithuania, murmured, "I do not really know what you like in it. I… I have forgotten, da?"

"Y-yes," Lithuania said, "Coffee was never an important topic between us, anyways. It's fine."

_"No, _Litva_, it is not fine,"_ Russia thought, _"If coffee could have been the most important topic of conversation between us, you and I could have lived much happier lives."_

"Da, I suppose it was not," he murmured aloud.

There was a long pause as the two former nations sipped their coffee. Russia felt ill at ease, almost nervous, an emotion he had rarely, if ever, felt around Lithuania before.

"What is this place?" Lithuania finally asked, his voice quiet and subdued.

"It is being an apartment on the city edge," Russia said, "It came with furniture and all… I am believing its former residents were… Err…"

He did not want to remind Lithuania that China and Belarus were likely the prisoners of a psychopath, as he no doubt would if he mentioned Panem, or the probable arrest of the apartment's former inhabitants, whoever they might have been. Thinking of Panem and of what she had done, Russia's grip tightened on the handle of the cup. He remembered_ so_ _vividly_ the look on Ukraine's face as she was buried beneath a ton of rubble. And of course, Lithuania's trembling, bandaged hands were a fresh reminder of what Panem had done.

"Russia… What are you _doing_?"

He looked down, and saw that, not completely unsurprisingly, he had crushed the handle of the coffee cup.

"I am not showing much of the self-restraint," Russia said with a slight chuckle, "That is what I am doing."

"You were thinking about Panem, weren't you?" Lithuania said softly.

Russia looked down, away from the Lithuanian boy's gentle gaze. He did not want to discuss Panem, not with Lithuania, who had likely already found some way to rationalize _pitying_ the psychopathic woman. After all, Lithuania had a reputation for pitying psychopaths, did he not? Russia certainly thought he did, and he was fairly certain that he ought to know.

"It's all right," Lithuania said, "I… If I ever hated anyone in my life, I hate her. I think… I can barely even pity her, knowing what she's done to everyone…"

He smiled half-heartedly at Russia, who did not have the presence of mind to smile back.

"But, of course, I can't outright hate her," the Lithuanian boy sighed, "I'm too much of an optimist to be able to actually hate."

"Optimism is better than wanting to kill people very brutally," Russia informed him, "You are…you are having luckiness, _Litva_."

"_No_. I have never had good luck, and you know it."

There was an alarming, almost angry edge in Lithuania's voice, and Russia winced.

"Toris, please do not speak in that way or in that tone," he murmured, "It is sounding like…"

"I know who it sounds like," Lithuania whispered, burying his head in his hands, "Believe me, I know."

Russia no longer knew what to do. Lithuania appeared to be breaking, and he was never certain what to do when the Baltic nation broke down in front of him. He was still unused to seeing Lithuania break at all.

_"He used to be so very strong…"_

"Panem tortured him, you know," Lithuania said, "Estonia, I mean. She said she…"

"She was probably lying to you," Russia said, "You know this, _Litva_. Why do you believe her…?"

"Because Eduard would sacrifice himself for Raivis!" Lithuania snapped, his green eyes boring into Russia, "You of all people should know that!"

Russia winced, and then stood up, nearly pushing the table into Lithuania.

"If you are not wanting to speak with me," he said, coldly, "Kindly be saying so. I will be going now. If you need anything, you will be calling me, da?"

He turned and marched off down the hall, not looking back. If Lithuania wanted to follow him, fine. If not, even better. If he was not followed, there would be no one to see him cry. For although Russia understood that Lithuania was hurt, frightened, and quite likely suffering from depression, being told that he of all people ought to know what Estonia was willing to sacrifice was a terrible, terrible thing.

* * *

Canada hated silence. He hated it terribly, especially now. He missed America's chatter, missed the way England and France would bicker. He also missed Kumajiro, who had disappeared when the world conference building had crumbled, and who would probably never reappear.

The silence had persisted, however, for several days now. Canada was not completely certain, but he thought that France was drinking. There was a heavy, tired air to the Frenchman's demeanor that would have alerted Canada to this, even if the presence of alcohol in the small refrigerator had not.

Earlier that morning, Canada had left the cabin to take a walk. He could not stand to be cooped up inside, not when there was the entire beautiful outdoors to lose himself in. Out there, he could forget for a few moments that his family had fallen apart, that England and America were gone. He could lose himself in the beauty of the forest that he and France were hidden in.

But when he returned to the cabin, he opened the door to hear the sounds of muffled sobbing, and knew immediately that his time of happiness was at an end.

"Francis…" he sighed, going into the tiny kitchen, only to see the older man hunched over, his head in his hands, staring into what appeared to be a glass of wine.

"Francis, you don't need that," he whispered, reaching around France's arms to take the glass away. He was halted, however, when France grabbed his arm, gripping it tightly.

"Don't, Mathieu," France murmured, "It won't matter."

"Y-you don't need it," Canada protested, unnerved by the vacant, broken look in France's eyes, "So I'm t-taking it away."

He did not think France would hurt him. He trusted France. But he did not know what the Frenchman would do if he had drunk too much. He had no idea, for France had always made it a point to stay very sober when Canada had lived with him. But, now, it appeared, Canada was deemed an adult in France's eyes, and therefore, he was now forced to see France as he was now, broken and half-drunk, instead of as the decidedly odd but genuinely caring man who had raised him.

"If this-" he gestured wildly at the glass on the table, "If this makes you feel so sad, then you shouldn't drink it, Francis!"

"Just leave me alone," France murmured, looking down at the tabletop again, "Don't bother me, Mathieu."

"You do not need to drink any more wine!" Canada said, with all the force he could muster.

"You need to be quiet!" France snapped, and when he looked up at Canada, the brokenness written in his face was so intense that Canada flew at the older man, hugging him, _begging_ him to _please_ listen, to _please_ do anything but drink and be overwhelmed in regret.

He knew it would do no good, but he had to try. No one in the world had listened to Canada on a regular basis. They had barely even noticed he was there, most of the time. France had been the usual exception to that rule. And Canada needed France to be sane and sober. He needed France to be his father again, like he had been when Canada was a mere child.

But he also knew that this could never happen, for he was no longer a child, but an adult, and France could no longer take the strain of caring for anyone. Not now, not when he was blaming himself for what might have happened to England and to America.

And so Canada would have to find a way to take care of them both.

* * *

**OK, so, there we have an update from France and Canada! I honestly don't have much planned for them until later, but, eventually, something will happen to keep them in the story. Eventually. For now, they'll just appear every so often. (Also, side note: What is it with people drinking in my stories? I have no idea myself.)**

**As to why Lithuania is being cruel to Russia, he's not meaning to be cruel, really. He's just frightened, he's been trying to ignore the fact that he's permanently traumatized, and now that all of this is happening, everything about his past is becoming impossible for him to ignore. Which is making him jumpy and irritated, because he's supposed to be the stable, sane one, and then he's crying on the floor. And the person he's supposed to be taking care of walks in on him crying and tries to make him feel better, which makes him feel guilty because he's supposed to be the one making Russia feel better.**

**So yeah. Now I will go take a nap... So tired...**


	16. Edge of Insanity

Chapter Sixteen: Edge of Insanity

Russia barely had time to shut his bedroom door before he burst into tears. It was simply _too_ _much_, all this worrying and losing people and Lithuania acting as he had never acted before… Russia knew that he was the one to blame for Lithuania's mental state, and it was for that reason more than anything else that he began to cry now.

He realized suddenly that what Panem had done to Lithuania, torturing him, was likely nothing compared to what would happen to China and Belarus. Panem had intended to murder Lithuania, and she had meant to do it slowly, although in a single torture session. Furthermore, she planned to kill them all, eventually.

And thus it was certain that China and Belarus would suffer far more than Lithuania had at Panem's hands.

And that thought made the entire situation much worse. For although Russia was slightly frightened of Belarus, he understood that she was acting. He knew that she did not love him in the way she pretended to, for he remembered a time when Belarus would have done anything for Lithuania-had done many things for Lithuania-and he believed that he alone was the cause of her resuming her abuse and supposedly hatred toward the boy.

The only thing that he did not blame himself for, at that moment, was what Panem had done to the world. Russia had hurt many people in his lifetime, would probably hurt many more, and he had many times before felt a conscious, malevolent, insane wish to lock someone in a dark room and torture them until they died. (He had actually attempted this before, with no results, as anyone whom he wished to murder tended to be immortal.)

But he could remember very few times when he had planned out in great detail exactly what he would do to the person he hated, when he caught them. And, thinking of what he wanted to do to Panem, Russia felt disgusted with himself. He must not think those things now. He was supposed to be sane-no, he _had_ to be sane, because Lithuania, it seemed, could no longer be his sanity.

He still wanted to kill Panem. And he still hated her for what she had done to his family, and to his world. But, for a moment, as he berated himself for his murderous thoughts, the person he hated most was himself. Because if not for him, Panem would not have been able to hear any rumors about the Baltics. She would never have known what terrors tormented the little nations. Because there would have been nothing to torment them had he not been there. Would there?

He knew, of course, somewhere in the back of his mind, that someone else would have taken over the Baltics had he not. But that did not change what he had done, and it did not change what he felt at that moment. _He_ had been the one to imprison them. And thus it was he, and he alone, who was to blame for what had happened to them.

And what he knew did not change the fact that, over the years following the collapse of the Soviet Union, he had watched the Baltics, his sisters, and everyone else involved, struggling to recover from wounds _he_ had made. Or that his people had made. Or that his boss had made. Which, in the end, still made him responsible. For his people's actions, for all apparent purposes, were also his own actions. And thus it was he who had caused such terror and pain to so many of the other nations, and to their people.

It did not change the fact that Lithuania had tried to commit suicide. And it was likely that he had not been the only one.

He was still crying as these thoughts ran through his mind, and he did not hear the soft footsteps in the hallway, did not hear the footsteps getting louder as they approached him. He did hear his door squeak open, but he did not react, sitting still in the darkness, crying. He did not remember that this was no longer his mansion, and that Lithuania was no longer strong, until he heard the quiet anguish in the boy's voice.

"Russia…"

The bed, which was small-too small for Russia to fit in comfortably when he was lying down-creaked as someone else climbed onto it. The voice, Russia knew, belonged to Lithuania, and he tried to stop crying, because he had to be strong and Lithuania must not see him cry…

"I'm sorry."

And Lithuania, who was too good for the world, _had_ seen him crying, and he was _apologizing_, as if it was his fault…

"Do not be sorry," Russia murmured, "_I_ am sorry."

"I was wrong to say what I said," Lithuania said, his voice soft and kind and so familiar, but also broken and sad and utterly foreign in that sadness, "It wasn't just your fault that Estonia… Estonia…"

"How was it _not_ my fault, _Litva_?" Russia asked, "How?"

"Well, I wasn't there to protect him, and…"

"You were not there to help him because I dragged you off and tortured you," Russia said with a calmness that surprised even himself, "So it is still being my fault."

"I… Oh, Russia…"

Lithuania's slim, careful fingers stroked the back of Russia's head, and he remembered vividly that there had been a time when he had hurt those fingers very badly.

"Stop. Toris, stop. Go away."

"No," Lithuania said, "I won't go away. I know you won't hurt me now. I have faith in you, Russia."

_"I am not having much faith in myself,"_ Russia thought, but he could not say it. Not when Lithuania was trying to comfort him again, even as broken as the Baltic boy was. Even when, not even a day before, Lithuania had been in tears on the bathroom floor. Still, despite the pain Russia could hear in the boy's voice, Lithuania was trying to comfort everyone besides himself. For Lithuania, it seemed, could spare none of the kindness he possessed for himself.

"I wish I had your faith, _Litva_," was the only thing Russia said. Lithuania did not reply, his small fingers still stroking Russia's hair.

"What do you think is happening to them now?" Russia asked, "Belarus and China?"

He felt Lithuania stiffen, and berated himself for mentioning the two other nations. Lithuania did not need that reminder.

"I don't know," Lithuania said quietly, "But Panem is insane. So I know that whatever is happening to them, it is terrible."

_"And he knows this because of what you did to him. He knows what insane people can do because of you."_

"But I also believe that they will be all right," Lithuania said, and Russia could almost see the Baltic's soft smile.

"Why do you say that, _Litva_?"

"Because if they die, then they are safe," Lithuania said, "I… I don't think we go anywhere after we die, Russia. Not you, not me, not any nation. We've lived too long, done too many things, both good and bad, to go to either heaven or hell. So I think when a nation dies… We truly die. We…we just fade away."

The Baltic boy laughed quietly, a slightly bitter note deeply hidden in his laughter.

"I'd like to believe in reincarnation, but I don't think it's possible," he said, "But that's my dream-to be reincarnated and live a normal human life, just once, before I fade away forever. It would be nice, to live as a human. I… I've always wanted to be human."

Lithuania paused, and then continued. Russia said nothing all this time, content merely to listen to the Lithuanian's ramblings. If it helped the boy to talk, then let him. Anything for Russia's _Litva_.

"But I think that when you fade away, it is the only time in a nation's life that you are truly at peace-that second before you fade away. Because you forget it all, in that instant. You…"

He stopped, suddenly, laughing again.

"I'm sorry. This is all speculation, but… I've had a long time to think about it, you see."

_"Centuries? He's been thinking about dying for centuries? Or just since _then_?"_

"I am thinking that I like it," Russia said, "The idea of peace is very nice."

"Peace would be nice," Lithuania said, "I've often wondered if humans have any peace of mind… I've wondered if they're tormented the way we nations are."

"Not in the same way," Russia said, "No, _Litva_. We may look human, but being human is not the same as being a nation. Not at all."

_"Because eventually a human's body will shut down. Too much pain, too much abuse, and a human will be ceasing to function. A nation does not have that option. And now that we have the option… We find that we cannot take our own lives away. Not when others are needing us."_

* * *

Estonia could barely see, so great was the haze of pain that surrounded him. The blonde boy stumbled down the hall toward his room, which, although fairly close now, seemed a thousand miles away.

America's comforting embrace was now a distant memory, although it would forever remain etched in Estonia's mind. He remembered more vividly the more recent things-Belarus' cold demeanor momentarily breaking, replaced by a pity that quickly disappeared again before it helped Estonia at all.

Iceland, on the other hand, had seemed to pity Estonia far more than he had ever thought the Nordic boy was capable of. Estonia had not known that he would have to feed Iceland, but he had done it, despite his bleeding, cut hands, and although Iceland had asked him to please stop, to please go away and come back only when he was healed, Estonia would not do it. At least he could sit down while he fed Iceland. At least, there, he knew no one would hurt him. There was only Iceland, and Iceland, although distant, was kind and would not hurt him as Panem did.

The haze of pain was growing thicker, and Estonia looked down, seeing drops of blood fall from his hands onto the carpet. He stumbled a moment later, his legs giving out, no longer able to support him, and he fell to the ground. He lay there for a moment, half-conscious, sobbing quietly.

"Surely you can do better," said the disdainful voice of Panem, and Estonia moaned in agony.

_"Of course… I'm so close, and she comes back to hurt me more. Why? What did I do wrong?"_

"You were watching me that whole time, weren't you?" he spat, "Did you like what you saw? What have you done to Latvia?"

His voice was weak, but he could still muster the strength to raise his head and glare at Panem.

"America's little display of affection was awfully cute," Panem said with a bitter laugh, "If only he could have cared about me the way he seemed to for you, just then. As for Latvia, you'll only get to see him if you can make it to your room, Estonia. So, get up."

"I can't," Estonia whispered.

"That's what you said before."

"No, Panem, this time I really cannot get up!" Estonia sobbed, "I can barely feel my feet anymore."

"Then this shouldn't hurt at all," Panem said, smirking.

Estonia's eyes widened. He did not know what the girl would do to him, but he knew that he could not take any more pain. Any more pain, and he would go insane, and if he went insane, then there was no hope of ever escaping it. Not when death was the only certain end to the torment he now felt.

"No, please! I… I really can't walk!"

"Then crawl," Panem said, "Crawl on back to your prison, you little freak. I won't help you. You don't deserve my help, you pathetic creature!"

She kicked him in the ribs, and, sobbing, Estonia pulled himself to his knees. He tried to stand, but could not, and, so, despising himself for his weakness, he began to crawl toward his room, blood and tears staining the carpet below him. Panem walked behind him, and every time he glanced back, she smiled in amusement.

"Why do you hate me?" he asked once, when he had no choice but to stop and relieve the pain in his hands for an instant, "Why are you punishing me?"

"Mostly for fun," Panem said, smiling. Then, her eyes narrowed.

"Of course, it's also partly because you and all the other ex-nations are in my way. But do you want to know the real reason, Estonia? The real reason why I hate all of you, and not just America?"

Estonia hesitated. Then, he nodded.

Panem knelt next to him, her green eyes narrowing further.

"Here is why I hate you all," she said pleasantly, grabbing Estonia's right arm and twisting it behind him, causing the boy to cry out in pain and fear.

_"No, please, no more pain! You don't understand, you don't understand… I'll go insane and it hurts! Don't hurt me, please…"_

"I hate you because you treated me as if I were worth less than even a micronation like Sealand or Ladonia," Panem spat, "Even you, Estonia. Even you, whose own brother's best friend is a micronation, ignored and despised me for having no land of my own! You…you are all as much to blame as America is. I could have left him! I could have gone to live with someone else, if someone else had cared! But no one cared about me! No one, that is… Except for your very special Latvia."

She wrenched Estonia's arm further behind him, and he shrieked in pain, hating her for her cruelty, and hating himself for not realizing that she was even more alone than he was. It was not that he wanted to befriend Panem-there was nothing he wanted less. But he remembered that his insanity had started when he was hurt by the people he loved-the people who should have protected him, and he knew, then, that he ought to have spoken to Panem, at the very least, before she had become the monster she now was.

And he realized, finally, that she had just said that Latvia had befriended her.

"When did Latvia ever even speak to you?" he sobbed, the pain in his arm intensifying as Panem's wrenched it ever further out of joint, "When did he ever hold a conversation with you? We all talked to you once and a while, in passing… Why _Latvia_ in particular?"

"Because he did speak to me," Panem said, "On several occasions. Which is more than you ever did, Eduard. I hope you're happy. You and everyone else helped America turn me into what I am. Oh, I know what you think of me, but this is revenge, plain and simple. You hurt me, so I hurt you. Maybe you could have stopped it, but you didn't. And now the nation of Panem-me-is the only nation that still exists. The nation of Panem might have considered sparing you, the personifications of old, inferior nations, if you had not ignored and hurt me. But you did, and now it's too late for you all!"

She wrenched Estonia's arm to the left one last time, and as she did so, there was a burning pain in the opposite shoulder. Recognizing the feeling of being stabbed, Estonia shrieked in agony, sobbing, but not allowing himself to be brought so low as to beg for the forgiveness that he knew he would never receive from the likes of Panem. Somehow, he could still think coherently. And he realized that Panem's insanity was not so different from his own.

Then, suddenly, the pressure on his arm released, and Panem was smiling at him, her face mere inches from his own. She held a knife in one hand, blood dripping from the blade, and Estonia felt blood soaking his shirt from the wound in his shoulder. He did not know how deep the wound was, but he realized, then, that he would likely bleed to death in a matter of moments if she had stabbed him deeply.

"You're not going to kill Latvia," Estonia murmured, the fact suddenly registering, even as he realized that he himself might be dying, "You care for him, just as…"

He had been going to say 'just as I do', but he realized-or at least, he hoped-that there was no way that Panem's twisted mind could let her feel for Latvia in the way Estonia felt for him. Estonia's feelings for Latvia, especially now, were confused and complicated, but he knew that he wanted no one else to feel that way toward the Latvian, least of all Panem, who had condemned them all to insanity. Panem must not feel for Latvia in that way, for if she did, then… Then what? What would that mean for Latvia, and for Estonia himself? If Panem cared for Latvia in the same way he did…

"No," Panem said, "I _am_ going to kill him, when I don't need him anymore. But, Estonia, I'll kill you long before I end Latvia. Because if Latvia has no one else, he'll have to turn to me, won't he? That's what I'm counting on, you see. If I eliminate you and everyone else he loves, he'll need something to cling onto… And it will have to be me, or nothing at all. And he will have to cling to something, or die. So maybe he'll care about me again, after all."

_"No," _Estonia thought, _"No, he won't, he's stronger than that…"_

But he was not sure that Latvia _was _stronger than that. He could remember all too clearly how attached Lithuania had been to Russia, could remember thinking that the eldest Baltic had developed a terrible case of Stockholm Syndrome. And after only a few days, Latvia was already displaying signs of that sickness, and not only that, he was also exhibiting signs of a dreadful insanity.

"Don't do that to him," Estonia whispered, looking over at Panem, "You'll only destroy him. And you said it yourself-you don't hate Latvia."

"Of course I don't," Panem said, "But he's a problem. So, eventually, just like the rest of you… He'll have to die. But I'm going to wait as long as possible before I have to kill him. Cause, you know, he's a lot more fun to have around than you lot. A lot nicer, too."

* * *

Latvia stood alone at the window, staring out at the small, grassy area that was all he could see from the tiny window. It was the one bit of the outdoors that he had glimpsed since he was taken to this place. He wanted to go outside, wanted to run through the grass, but he could not. And besides… There was no one left to play with him, and it was no fun to run outside alone.

Estonia was gone. Gone, gone, gone. He did not know if the older boy would ever return, and he did not know how he would face Estonia if he did come back. He had left the older Baltic to be tortured, abused, hurt, he had done _nothing_ to save him, although his one goal all along had been to save Estonia and somehow manage to end himself…

The door opened behind him, and Latvia turned, to see Estonia leaning against the wall just inside the door, his eyes closed. He could see tears on the other boy's face, and he realized then just how much Estonia had been hurt, looking at the older blonde's agonized expression.

"E-Eddy…" he whispered, and, opening his eyes, Estonia did something that astonished Latvia. He _smiled_. And Latvia knew that he did not deserve that smile, not after what he had said and done to Estonia.

"Hey," Estonia whispered, and Latvia heard the older boy's voice shaking.

Then, without another word, Estonia stumbled to the bathroom. As Latvia ran after him, intending to apologize, he heard the door lock.

"Eddy!" Latvia shrieked, suddenly panicking.

_He hates me, he hates me… He _should_ hate me… I wanted him to hate me but now I want him back… Oh Eddy please don't hate me!"_

"Eddy, don't!" he screamed, hysterical and not quite knowing why. He knew only that he did not want Estonia to hate him, not now. He needed Estonia, he realized, and now, now that it was too late, he could only scream and beg.

"Please, please, I'm sorry!" he pleaded, beating on the door, his small hands aching from the strength he exerted, "Let me in, Eddy! Please don't leave me alone!"

No response, only quiet sobbing that might have belonged to Estonia, but more than likely belonged to Latvia himself.

"I'm sorry…" he whimpered, leaning his head against the door, "I'm really sorry. I was really mean to you, Eddy, and I'm sorry and… Please don't leave me…"

* * *

On the other side of the door, Estonia leaned against the wall, half-conscious, and wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. He could hear Latvia's screams, but he did not have the energy or the strength to get up and open the door. He was simply too tired.

"L…Lati…" he murmured, "I don't hate you. I can't."

He did not know if Latvia heard him over the sound of the tiny boy's own screams, and he tried to stand, to crawl, to somehow open the door. But he could not-he was too tired and too weak, and he needed to rest…

He realized, then, that he might be so weak because he was bleeding to death. And if he bled to death, then Latvia's date of death was so much closer than it had been before. Panem had said that she would not kill Latvia until she killed Estonia. And so he must not die.

But he was so weak… So tired…

He closed his eyes, and as he did so, he heard America's words from earlier that day, and they still made no sense to him.

_"Lithuania would be proud of you."_

_"Why would Lithuania be proud of me? I… I failed. I failed to protect Latvia… I failed him… I'm sorry, Toris… I'm…so…tired…"_

* * *

Latvia heard the hallway door open again, and, enraged and hysterical, he turned and flew at Panem, kicking at her until she picked him up, holding him not at arm's length, where he could have still kicked, but crushing him close to her, where he could not kick at all.

"You freak!" Latvia shrieked, struggling to escape the girl's grasp, "You hurt Estonia! I'm going to_ kill_ you!"

Panem laughed.

"If you kill me, he'll die locked in that bathroom," she said, "He locked himself in there to die, you know. And probably to get away from you. You're a bit of a burden to him, aren't you?"

She set him down, and, still holding onto him with one arm, she stroked his hair with the other hand.

"You're an awfully cute burden though," she commented, "I can see why Estonia keeps you around, even if it is only for your adorable looks."

"I _hate_ you," Latvia hissed, feeling deep inside him a hatred of a type which he had never felt before, "I hate you _so much_."

"Certainly," Panem agreed, "But if you don't calm down, Estonia will bleed to death. He's bleeding awfully badly, you know, and he's been bleeding for a while. So if I were you…"

"Let go of me," Latvia murmured, "Let go and don't ever touch me again, you psycho! It's not _my_ fault that Eddy might die!"

"Isn't it, though?" Panem asked, and Latvia realized that it was, in fact, his fault_. He_ had dropped the bottle,_ he_ had condemned Estonia to this torture.

"I didn't mean to drop that bottle!" he sobbed, and as Panem released her grip on him, he sunk to the floor, his cries growing ever louder.

"It's not my fault!" he shrieked, "It isn't, right? I didn't mean to! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Eddy, I'm sorry!"

He was sitting on the floor, staring wide-eyed ahead of him, shrieking his lungs out as tears flowed uncontrollably down his cheeks. And still no one came to comfort him. There was no Lithuania to do that, and there was no Estonia either. Lithuania was dead, and Estonia might soon follow him.

Vaguely, he noticed one of Panem's guards insert a key into the bathroom door and go inside. A moment later, the soldier reappeared, dragging Estonia. Latvia could see from the dull look in the Estonian boy's eyes that he was either barely conscious or dead, and he stood up, intending to run over to Estonia, only to find that Panem had grabbed his arm and would not let go.

"Let go!" Latvia screamed, "Let go of me, let me see Eddy! Now!"

"Nope," Panem said, "He's going to get fixed up, and you are not going with him."

"You're going to kill him!" Latvia wailed hysterically, "I know you are!"

"God," Panem said, staring at him, "You are one paranoid kid. See ya, Lat!"

With that, she dropped his arm, pushing him back onto the floor with an almost gentle air. Then, she left the room, her guards having already dragged Estonia out.

"No!" Latvia screeched, throwing himself at the door, which had already swung shut, "No, no, let me out! Please! Please, I need Eddy! Please don't hurt him! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll do anything you want, just let me out! Don't hurt Eddy anymore! Don't leave me _alone_!"

Gradually, the footsteps in the hallway faded away, but Latvia only screamed louder, pleading with Panem.

"Don't kill Estonia! He's the only person I have! _Please_! Bring him back! I need him! I'm scared, I don't want to be alone, I… Eddy, come back! Please!"

No response. No sound, and Latvia began to believe that Estonia was truly gone forever. After a while, as he became tired, Latvia's screams gradually ceased. His hands were raw and bloody from beating the wooden door, and still there was no sound, and still Estonia did not return.

Finally, exhausted, Latvia could only kneel on the floor, the blood from his hands dripping down his neck and arms as he clutched wildly at his curly hair, threatening to tear it out entirely.

His throat was raw, and he could no longer ever scream. He was still crying, though, pleading in much quieter tones for his brother to come back to him. He now understood clearly Estonia's fear of being alone, for now that he was, it seemed, truly alone, he felt insanity creep up inside him, unstoppable.

"All alone, all alone…" Latvia murmured, his voice a high, childish singsong, "And Eddy's _gone_…"

It hit him once again that Panem had taken Estonia, probably to kill him, and, without warning, Latvia began to sob again.

"Eddy, come back!" he whispered, sobbing, "Don't leave me alone! I'm so sorry, Eddy, I'll never be mean to you again… Just come back! Come back… _Eddy_!"

* * *

Three days it had been, now, and China was frightened. He could not consciously admit it, even to himself, but he knew that, deep inside, he was terribly frightened of the future.

He had been hungry before, thirsty too, but even as some of his people had perished from hunger and thirst, he had given away what little food he had, knowing that he would survive. He was the personification of China, and thus, could not die unless all of his nation were to fall.

But now he could die. Now he was human, and as a human, China could only think back and remember how certain of his people had died. As a nation, and a very old one, China had died many times, in the manner in which only nations could die, only to be resurrected when the wounds that had killed him were healed. And when a nation died, until they were reinvested with life, they were forced to relive the deaths of their people in the most terrible way possible-seeing the deaths through their citizens' eyes. Feeling their pain as they died.

And, knowing how it felt for a human dying of starvation, China was frightened, although he knew that it was only the third day, and that he would be brought water every two days. For in the interval between visits from the introverted but not quite cold Estonia, he was terribly lonely. It was terrible, being left alone in the dark with no sound, no voice. He could talk to himself, of course, and he did for a while.

But as he sat there, talking to himself in the darkness of the cell, he received a visit from Panem. He had not seen her since the day she had murdered Lithuania.

"Hello, China," Panem said as she entered the cell, "And how are you today? A bit lonely, I'd imagine. You've been talking to yourself quite a lot…"

China said nothing, merely glared icily at Panem.

"Would you like some company?" Panem asked, "Would that make you happy?"

Again, China said nothing, glaring at the young girl who had murdered his family and many others, including a certain boy with eyes like sunlight.

"Have you gone mute?" Panem asked, her voice almost playful, "You were talking a whole lot earlier."

"I don't want to speak to someone like _you_, aru!" China spat, "You murderer."

"You wound me, China," Panem said in an overly melodramatic tone, "Tell me… Were you that attached to your siblings? You had so many conflicts with them over the years-one would think you would have learned that family will only betray you."

China clenched his fists, knowing that she was trying to anger him, and determined to resist the urge to show his anger.

_"She wants to hurt you, aru. Don't let her get to you. You know what is true-or you should, after four thousand years."_

"I raised them," he said, staring at Panem, seeing not a bit of warmth reflected in her green eyes. It was almost like staring into ice, except that ice was white or pale blue, and Panem's eyes were near emerald, and would have doubtless looked warm and beautiful under different circumstances. For a moment, the dead vacancy in her eyes reminded China of Lithuania, and as he wondered why, he had a fleeting memory of a world conference long, long ago, in which he alone had noticed the way the Baltic boy watched Belarus, the way his hands shook… The bandages on his wrists. China had always wondered whether no one else was as observant as he was, or if they simply did not care. Either way, it had been clear, then, that Lithuania was suffering, and there had been a deadness in his eyes on that day which China remembered now, watching Panem.

"I raised them," he repeated, "They were my family."

"Family?" Panem said with a bitter laugh, "I just told you, China… Family will only betray you. And you, who have lived four thousand years… I thought that you of all people would understand. But of course you don't. And that is why you're weak. You are weak because you still care even after people betray you."

She laughed again, more loudly and frighteningly this time.

"England still cares for America," she said, "Even after that war of theirs, even after all the times they've argued… And they have argued, you ought to know. I suppose you do know. Even after it all, England still protects America, and it's so _stupid_!"

There was a long silence, and then, in that silence, China realized something.

"No, aru," he said quietly, "You do not think it is stupid. You only pretend to because you want someone to do that for you. You want a protector. You are afraid of…"

He was cut off as Panem sprang to her feet, grabbing him by the collar of his now-tattered shirt. She was taller than him, and much stronger, and she half-lifted him from the ground, glaring angrily down at him.

"I am not afraid of anything!" Panem spat, "I am not!"

_"Yes, you are,"_ China thought, not daring to say it aloud, because he, too, was afraid, _"You are afraid of being alone, as Russia is, as Estonia is, as Italy and Prussia are…or were? You are afraid, as we all are. Nations fear being alone. And you have not only the fear of loneliness, but the insanity that seems to come when people who fear loneliness are left alone for too long."_

* * *

**Haha, author's note at the bottom instead of the top! xD Well, I think this chapter might have cleared up a few things about Panem... Or it may have made her an even more confusing character. I'm not sure. More will be revealed about her in future chapters, naturally. **

**I have not much to say here...**

**Thank you all for your support so far! It's been wonderful getting all your sweet reviews, and your insights are really helpful! Thanks a lot! :)**


	17. Consequences

**Well, here is a chapter! Yeah, you knew that.**

**Warning: more torture scenes in this chapter, so, general violence, and a girl being forced to take off her shirt. (It's not that bad, I swear. It just had to happen for the scene to work. It's only mentioned, like, once. Not a big deal, just, you know, warning you people...)**

**So yeah. Enjoy, I guess...**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Consequences

America bodily attacked Panem the moment she entered his cell. For once, she had come in person, and he took advantage of this, slamming the girl against the wall before England could move, could even try to stop him.

"You and I need to talk, little sister!"America said, staring boldly into Panem's eyes, "We are going to talk _now_, or I'll throttle you!"

"You're too soft-hearted for that, hero!" Panem spat, "I saw you with Estonia; I know how soft-hearted you really are! You're a selfish brat, but you wouldn't hurt your own sister. Not when you made such a big deal out of that useless Estonian's pain."

And America knew that she was right. No matter how much he wanted to, he was not sure that he could hurt Panem. She was, after all, his sister, even if she _had_ destroyed most of the world. Even if she had tortured and killed his friends. Even if she killed England in front of him, he was not sure that he would be able to harm her.

"Still," Panem said, "I'm sure whatever you have to say will be entertaining. Come on, America. Let's go have a little talk."

For a moment, America felt elated. He looked over at England, his face triumphant, just in time to see the older man bury his head in his hands. England's entire body was trembling, and America did not understand why.

"England…?" America murmured.

_"Why is he crying? I'm just going to talk to Panem; she's not gonna kill me or anything. Not yet. I wish she'd kill me and leave these guys alone, especially Iggy, but… She won't do it. So I have to make her hurt me instead… Somehow. I have to."_

"Are you just going to stand there, or are we going?" Panem asked. Stepping back, America released her, and as the girl left the cell, he followed, not glancing back at England. He would not make the mistake of looking back. Not when he already knew that England was in tears. Not when he knew that England would try to stop him from going. He had to go. He had to try to save them all. This might well be his only chance.

As the cell door slammed shut, America glanced at Panem, wondering where they would go. She led him down the hall to the elevator, and as they passed the small kitchen, America saw the unmistakable, tiny figure of Latvia there… Alone.

"What did you do to Estonia?" he asked, glaring at Panem, feeling panic well up inside him, "Where is he?!"

It frightened him to think that Panem might have killed Estonia, and he could not simply accept the possibility of the boy's death, not even knowing that death was probably what Estonia wanted after yesterday's torture… But even knowing that Estonia might well want to die, he could not bear the thought of Lithuania's brother having to die as the kind, brunet Baltic had.

"He's fine," Panem said, "A bit torn up, but fine. He'll live, and you'll see him soon. You ought to worry about Latvia. The little psycho is losing it fast."

"You drove that kid insane…" America murmured, resisting the urge to run back to the kitchen and embrace Latvia, to tell the tiny child that everything would be all right. His intervention, he knew, could do Latvia no good. But still he longed to comfort and protect the child, as he longed to protect all of them.

"So I did," Panem agreed casually, "His insanity amuses me. You should have heard him last night, when it finally hit him that Estonia had been gone for twelve hours straight. He freaked out and about broke a hole in the wall, throwing things at it. He's calmed down some, but I swear to God, that kid is pretty unmanageable when he's upset."

She stopped suddenly, turning and opening the door directly to her left.

"Here we are!" she sang, marching into the room and throwing the light on, to reveal a mostly bare room, containing only two chairs and a small, metal table, "Welcome to…well, a boring room. Sit down, will you? You tower over me in a freakish manner, and it's annoying."

Cautiously, America slid into one of the chairs. Panem, however, perched on the edge of the table, grinning down at him.

"Now I'm taller than you! So, America… What do you have to say?"

America took a deep breath, trying to prepare his words. He did not know if his plan would work, and if it failed, then all this was in vain, and the others would continue to be tortured. So he must find a way to make it work.

"I want you to stop hurting the others," he said, "I want you to hurt me instead."

"And why should I do that?" Panem asked.

"Because you don't hate them!" America said, "Come on, you know you hate me, not the others! You don't hate Estonia and Latvia, do you?"

Panem paused, apparently thinking over the issue at hand.

"Not Latvia," she said finally, and America could only stare at her.

"You hate Estonia, then? Why?!"

"Because he ignored me, too," Panem said, "The entire world ignored me, for the most part. Except for that Latvian kid, who got bored at world conferences and hid with me under the table. You brought me to the conference when I was physically six, my dear Alfred. You let me play under the table so I wouldn't disturb the meeting, and I crawled away, looking at people's feet. Eventually, I found the feet of someone who didn't seem much taller than me. I pulled on his leg, which I had to stand up to reach… God, Latvia is the shortest fifteen year old ever! Anyways… Do you know what he did?"

America hesitated. Then, he shook his head.

"I have no clue what Latvia did."

"He crawled under the table," Panem said, "He looked down at me first, and then he looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Then he crawled under the table."

She paused, smiling in an almost kind way.

"We played under there until lunch break," she said, "I had a couple of dolls with me, so we played dolls very quietly, so no one would hear us. I noticed, in the end, that Estonia got really worried about him, because once lunch break came around, I could hear someone above us calling for a 'Latvia'. I was six, and I didn't know who Latvia was… But then Estonia came and pulled Latvia out from under the table, and I realized that I knew his name. Latvia, or Raivis, which was what Estonia called him. I think Estonia was mad that Latvia skipped out on the boring meeting to play with some kid, but Latvia didn't seem that upset. He just seemed… He seemed a little scared of Estonia. And I wondered why."

_"Because he knew that Estonia isn't emotionally stable," _America thought, trying to digest this new information, _"He was probably afraid that Estonia would hurt him."_

"So you don't hate Latvia," he murmured aloud, glancing at Panem, "I… I'm sorry. I'm gonna keep apologizing until you believe me. I really am sorry for ignoring you and stuff, and…"

"Shut up!" Panem said, her eyes narrowing, and the far-off, almost wistful look disappearing from her eyes, "Now, America. Tell me what you came here to say."

"Please don't hurt the others anymore!" America blurted, "Panem, I will do _anything_. Heck, I'll… Umm…"

He thought of several things that he might be made to do by the sadistic girl, none of them pleasant.

"I'll do anything you want me to," he said quietly, "Just don't hurt England or Estonia or anyone else again! Please."

He paused, watching Panem, who merely glared at him, her emerald eyes cold as ice.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you," he murmured, staring pleadingly at her, "I know you don't believe me, but please… You hate me the most. So please, torture me, if you have to torture anyone at all. Y-you can torture me as much as you want, for a-as long as you want, and I won't…"

"Your apology is not accepted," Panem said coldly, cutting him off midsentence. Then, she laughed.

"You amuse me, Alfred. You're trying to imitate Lithuania, aren't you? What works on Russia won't work on me, and besides, you're not like Lithuania. You're not anywhere near as compassionate, nor that self-sacrificing. If you were, then maybe I'd listen to you. But if you were that self-sacrificing… You would never have ignored me the way you did!"

"I know," America choked out, "I know I'm not like Lithuania! I've always known that. H-he… He was better than all of us, and he always will be, even if he is dead now. But, Panem… I want to try to do what he would have done, because he was amazing. He was like… Like a hero to me, just like England is. They are-or, in Lithuania's case, were-some of the best people I've ever known, so I'm going to try to be like them. So, little sister, please… Don't hurt the others anymore."

There was a long silence, and then, finally, Panem began to laugh, loudly and hysterically this time.

"Oh, you naïve fool!" she chortled, "You seriously think I'll ever accept that deal? You fool! All you've done is make it worse for everyone! You're an idiot, Alfred! And…it's hilarious."

"What?" America asked, trying to quell a cold sense of dread developing deep inside him, "What are you talking about?"

Smirking, Panem turned to her bodyguards.

"Go get the girl, and bring her in here. Oh, and… Grab me a whip on the way, will you?"

The bodyguards nodded, and then withdrew, leaving America and Panem alone.

"Panem," America said, feeling himself beginning to panic, "Panem, what are you doing?"

"You'll see," Panem said with a terrifying smile, "You'll see, and you'll regret ever having asked me to let you take the punishment for the others. Because, you see, America… Their torture hurts you more than anything else. And so _you_ will never be tortured in a physical sense… Not until the very end."

A few moments later, the guards returned, dragging between them a girl, who was kicking and clawing at them.

"Belarus…" America whispered, staring at the girl, "How many people are here…?"

He had known that there were others imprisoned here, but had not been able to discover their exact identities. Now he knew that Belarus was one of those here, and he remembered that she had been with Lithuania when Panem had tortured the Baltic boy and left him to die. And he remembered Lithuania saying, long ago, that he and Belarus had once loved each other.

The guards threw Belarus onto the floor, where she sat, glaring up at them. She noticed America, then, and glanced questioningly at him. He saw that she was wearing tattered pants and a short-sleeved shirt, and he wondered if he had ever seen Belarus wearing pants before the world had crumbled. She used to wear a dress, he knew, but he had rarely paid much attention to her attire, and so it had probably changed completely without his notice.

"You'd better cuff her hands," Panem said to the soldiers, "That should keep her from escaping too fast. If she gets too unruly, we can tie her legs, too."

She turned to America, grinning.

"And I'll tell you now, Alfred… If you move, I will make this _so much worse_ for her."

"What are you going to do to her?" America asked, panicked, "Don't hurt her, Panem! It's not like I care that much about her!"

"Now, now, America…" Panem said, "We all know that you care too much about everyone except the people you were supposed to take care of… Like _me_."

"Don't hurt her!" America screamed, fighting the urge to throw himself at Panem, to tear her to pieces for what she was doing, "She didn't do anything! No one else did anything! It was my fault, Panem, please…"

While he pleaded with Panem, the guards had somehow managed to neutralize Belarus. She knelt on the floor, now, looking utterly helpless, and America wanted nothing more than to find a way to help her. She was, after all, only a young girl, trapped just as he was in a cruel nightmare.

"Don't cuff her hands yet," Panem said to the guards, "I need to do one thing first."

Panem marched over to Belarus, crouching safely out of the blonde girl's reach, and looking straight into the older girl's dull blue eyes.

"Belarus," Panem said, "You know what's going to happen, don't you? You have to have seen it before, living with Russia."

"Russia," Belarus said in a choked voice, "Did not whip people in front of me."

_"He beat Lithuania in front of her at least once, though," _America thought, _"Lithuania told me so."_

"But you still know what's happening," Panem said, "So, since I know you won't cooperate with me willingly, let me ask you something. Would you care if anything were to happen to your precious Lithuania's little brothers?"

America froze.

_"She threatens me with Belarus and threatens Belarus with Estonia and Latvia… And it's my fault this is happening to Belarus… I'm an idiot… I… I'm sorry!"_

But although he knew that what was happening was his fault, he could say nothing to stop the scene unfolding before him. If he spoke, if he moved, then Belarus' torture would be that much more brutal.

And so he could do nothing.

* * *

Belarus felt frightened, and she hated herself for it. She had seen the whip, had seen America's horrified expression, and she knew what would be done to her. But it was still terrifying, knowing that she was at the mercy of a complete psychopath, one who had already murdered many of the people she held dear, one who would probably murder her, eventually.

She had intended to resist, but then, hearing Panem threaten her with Estonia and Latvia's lives, she knew she could not fight. She could not allow Lithuania's brothers to be hurt, even if it meant that she herself would be tortured.

_"He stood this all the time. So can I. I will be fine. It is better this way. Better for me to get hurt than those children… Even if it _is_ that stupid Estonian who would be hurt… But he's already been hurt too much. I have not. So… I will… I will not fight Panem. I will stay quiet and take this."_

Unflinching, Belarus pulled her tattered shirt over her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw America glance away, and she had to admire the young man for that, even if it was his fault that she was in this situation at all.

Panem's guards were not so modest, staring openly at Belarus until she fixed them with a cold, icy glare.

"Will that do?" she asked Panem, who smiled.

"You give in surprisingly easily, ice queen."

The words stung Belarus slightly, for she hated remembering how the other nations saw her, cold and hard as ice, when she longed to be something warm, something real and alive… Something that Lithuania had loved.

She said nothing, sitting still and silent as Panem cuffed her hands. She was done with fighting now. There was nothing to do but sit quietly and take whatever punishment might come. She could do it. She was stronger than Lithuania. She would take it without screaming.

She knew, of course, that she was lying to herself. Lithuania had been stronger than her, always would be, and she had to accept it. But she would take this without screaming, nevertheless.

Panem was standing, now, and although Belarus did not turn her head as the girl walked out of her line of vision, she knew what was coming. The blonde girl gritted her teeth, stealing a glance at America, who was watching her again, the agony in his eyes silently begging her to forgive him.

Panem slashed the whip down. Belarus bit her lip harder than she had ever meant to, and blood spurted from the wound. Mentally, she reasoned that at least she was still wearing a bra. It offered little protection, but at least she would not have to put it back on later and find it too painful to wear.

Another hard, fast swipe of the whip, and Belarus bit her lip again, but was unable to stop herself from whimpering as she bit into the tender, already bleeding flesh.

_"At least it is not Latvia or Estonia or _Toris_… Toris, where are you? Why…? No, this is not the Soviet house, he is not here. He is dead. He would not be allowed to save you anyways, even if he were here..."_

The blows rained down, seemingly ever harder, and Belarus forced herself to continue looking straight ahead, not allowing anything but the occasional pained whimper to escape her. She would not scream, nor would she cry out. There would be no weakness exhibited here, not from her.

She did not know how long it was that Panem whipped her. She knew only that at some point, Lithuania's smiling face entered her mind and refused to leave. And she remembered, too, that Russia had tortured them both once, together, when they refused to leave each other. And, selfish as it was, she wished that Lithuania was here, now, so she would not have to suffer alone.

She began to cry, then, both due to the pain and because Lithuania, who had loved her and would have been there for her, was gone forever. And, looking over at America, who sat immobile, afraid to move, she saw that he was also crying.

Belarus was only half conscious when the torture finally ceased. She knelt upon the floor, her head bent and nearly resting on her knees. She was tired, and the wounds on her back throbbed with pain. She knew, though, that this beating was nothing. There would be worse tortures before she left this place.

"Interesting," Panem said, "I thought after what happened to your precious Lithuania, you would want to die. But you don't seem to. Instead, you seem determined not to show weakness. Tell me, Belarus… What makes you so much stronger than your pitiful lover was?"

"He was not my lover," Belarus said, but as if to disprove her statement, a tear fell from her eye, splashing onto the floor, "He never had the chance to be anything more than my acquaintance."

"Yes, I know," Panem said, "Because you kept him at a distance. I can imagine how that would have hurt him, being rejected like that. It must have been awfully painful for him. You know, Belarus… I've done extensive research on all of you former nations. And do you know what I found out about your precious Lithuania?"

Belarus said nothing. Whatever it was, whatever horrible details Panem knew about Lithuania's past, she did not want to hear it.

"He was self-harming," Panem said, and Belarus could hear the smile in her voice, "After he left Russia. Now, tell me, Belarus… Why, after centuries of torture, would he continue hurting himself?"

Belarus did not know. She had already known this detail about Lithuania, but she still could not fathom why the boy would have harmed himself as he had. She had puzzled over it for years, and still she did not know why the tortured boy would have continued hurting himself when he was finally free from his tormentors.

"He hurt himself because of you," Panem said, laughing, "Think about that, Belarus, and let me know how you feel."

The girl had evidently turned away, as her voice grew fainter, but Belarus paid no attention. Panem's words were irreversibly burned into her mind.

_"The cuts on his wrist… I caught him once, in the bathroom at the world conference, hiding under a sink and crying, with his wrists bleeding… Was it my fault? Did I do that to him?!"_

She hated herself for her weakness, for allowing herself to cry. But remembering the agony on Lithuania's face that day, when she had found him hiding under the bathroom sinks, sobbing, she could not stop the tears.

She ought not to have trusted Panem… But she remembered that Lithuania had told her when she had found him self-harming that she must not talk him out of suicide when she did not care about him. And thus, in her mind, it must be her fault.

* * *

America wanted to shout at Panem, wanted to tell her and Belarus that there had been far deeper, far more hurtful reasons for what Lithuania had done to himself… But he was too afraid that Panem would start beating Belarus again, and if that happened, he was not sure that he would be able to handle it. He was not sure that Belarus would survive another beating.

_"I failed again. I'm an idiot, I… How did I ever think that this would work?!"_

"Hey, America," Panem said, sounding almost casual, "I don't think this whimpering personage can walk on her own. Be the hero you've always pretended to be and carry her back to her cell, will you?"

With that, Panem marched out, kicking Belarus contemptuously as she went. The blonde girl made no indication that she had felt the kick, and as America stood up and went over to her, she still did not move.

Panem's bodyguards had remained, and America knew that they would keep him and Belarus from trying to escape. As if he would leave England behind. Panem had to know that he would never abandon his brother, not if he could help it.

Belarus whimpered slightly as he lifted her from the ground, but America could tell that it was more of a startled cry than an actual expression of pain.

"Ssh, Bela," America said, with a confidence that he did not feel, "It's okay."

"I can walk by myself!" Belarus spat, a small bit of the familiar, half-mad flame returning to her eyes, "Put me down!"

America hesitated. Then, he nodded.

"If that's what you want."

He set her back down again, holding out his hand as she struggled to stand. To his surprise, Belarus accepted his help, and was soon on her feet, half-leaning against him.

"You ready?" America asked. Grimacing, Belarus nodded, and, still leaning on him, she began to move toward the doorway.

"I don't think I can walk if I don't lean on you," she rasped, her voice quiet and sad, "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's fine," America said, "I… It's the least I can do."

_"It's my fault Panem did this to you. Oh, God, what if this is only the start? What if she does the same thing to everyone else…? Who else is here? I don't know, I don't know, how many people can she torture…?"_

Belarus said nothing more, and America put his arm around her, trying to steady the injured girl. To his shock, she did not shake him off, merely leaned against him. He realized then just how much of a toll the beating had taken on the girl's thin body. He also realized that she was still wearing only a bra, and hurriedly, he began to pull off his jacket. He did not get far before Belarus stopped him.

"I don't feel the cold," the girl murmured, "It's fine."

America knew that it was not fine, but he also thought that Panem would likely be less than happy if her soldiers tried anything with Belarus… And anyways, Belarus herself was quite dangerous, even with her trademark knives taken away.

"If you change your mind…" he murmured, "Tell me."

They finally arrived at Belarus' cell, and, as one of the guards opened the door, America entered with her, lowering the girl gently to the floor. In the darkness of the cell, barely visible to the guards in the corridor, Belarus seemed to collapse inward, the sorrow hidden in her impassive features suddenly becoming apparent.

"You're gonna be okay, Bela," America said, crouching in front of the girl and smiling in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

"And_ you_ will not," Belarus said, "You are worse at hiding your feelings than…"

She broke off, looking down, but they both knew that she had been speaking of Lithuania.

"He didn't hurt himself because of you," America said, "I promise. He told me why he hurt himself, and it wasn't because of you."

"Do not speak of him," Belarus said, "He is dead. Whether or not I was the cause of his suffering does…does not matter…"

America heard her voice break, and he would have hugged Belarus had she not been huddled in the corner of the cell, her knees tucked up against her chest.

"That's enough!" one of the soldiers called, his voice harsh, "Get up, boy!"

"You'll be okay," America repeated. Then, he stood up, smiling one last time at Belarus, before turning away.

_"She never would have connected Lithuania's self-harming to herself if I hadn't gotten her into that situation… I'm sorry, Belarus. I'm sorry, England. I'm sorry, everyone… I failed again."_

* * *

Estonia woke up alone in a dark room. For a moment, he could not remember why he was there. But then he remembered, as if it were a distant memory, that he had been dragged from his room half-conscious, brought to… Whatever this place might be. So Panem had evidently decided to spare his life, even after stabbing him as she had. He knew this, but then, alone in the darkness, he was frightened. He feared being alone more than anything else, and he called out quietly, hoping to hear a response from the darkness.

"L-Latvia…? Are you here?"

He knew, of course, that Latvia was not there, but he wanted the little boy to appear, so that he would not be alone anymore.

"Lati… P-please be here. Please, I'm scared."

He instantly hated himself for pleading with Latvia, who was, after all, not even as sane as he, Estonia, was. At least the Latvian would never hear the words he had just spoken. Latvia would not worry about him, not now. But he needed someone, anyone… He was terrified.

It only became worse when he realized that he could not move. He thought that he was strapped down, probably to some sort of table, but it was impossible to be sure in the darkness.

Futilely, Estonia strained against the restraints that held him fast, whimpering softly in pain and fear.

"S-someone… Isn't there anyone there? Where am I? Where's Latvia? I'm scared…"

Then, frightened and alone, Estonia began to cry. The empty darkness did not speak to him, but inside his own mind he heard quiet, incomprehensible whispers, which he feared would soon become audible, and drive him to do things that he did not wish to, terrible things that would stain his world red with blood.

He did not know how long he lay there, sobbing and trying in vain to break free. He only knew that the longer he was there, the harder he tried to free himself, and the more panicked he became, until he was screaming, crying out for help that he knew would never come.

"Where is everyone?! Why doesn't anyone come? There has to be someone there! P-please let me out of here! Let me out!"

He realized, however, as the hours passed, that no one would come. His wrists were raw and bloody; he could feel the blood even in the darkness. He had tried too hard to escape the restraints, but he tried ever harder, desperate to escape the confines of the dark room.

The murmurs in his mind-demons, or some other equally dark force-were growing more audible, and he tried to shut the murmurs out, knowing all too well what would happen if he listened to those voices. But there was one thing that he knew already, one thing that those voices did not need to tell him.

"I'm all alone… I'll always be alone… But… Latvia! Why don't you come?"

He knew why Latvia did not come, knew that it was likely that the boy could not come, could not even hear him screaming. But he cried ever louder, hoping that someone would come. It felt like an age that he had lain there in the darkness, and it was frightening to him, thinking that he would be trapped there forever.

Eventually, his ability to scream was exhausted, and he lay still, chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath. His sobs, however, grew louder, and he could barely breathe, so overwhelming was the panic he felt.

"P-please…"

His voice was now no more than a pleading whisper.

"Someone, let me out of here…"

"Aren't you just the most pathetic thing?" said a woman's voice. For a moment, Estonia thought that the voice was simply in his head. Then, the lights came on, and he found that it was Panem who had spoken.

She was standing next to him, having apparently entered the room unseen. Perhaps-and this was quite likely-she had been there the whole time.

Estonia did not relax, but he did not feel more alarmed, either. If anything, he felt a calm setting over him at the knowledge that he was no longer alone.

"Hello? Earth to Eduard!" Panem said, "I'm talking to you!"

"You left me alone in the dark," Estonia whispered, his voice sounding hoarse even to himself, "How could you do that to me? I was scared."

"You sound like a child," Panem said with a laugh, "'I was scared!' Pathetic!"

She smiled at him, her eyes gleaming.

"Your wrists are bleeding," she said, "You shouldn't thrash around like that."

Estonia said nothing, hating himself for showing weakness in front of Panem. He was supposed to be stronger than this-certainly stronger than Latvia, at the very least-and here he was, whimpering like a pathetic _child_.

"Are you feeling any better?" Panem asked, "We had to give you a blood transfusion. Oh, and guess what, Estonia? Turns out we have the same blood type, you and me. Isn't that neat?"

"I don't want anything to do with you or your blood!" Estonia spat, "Next time, why don't you just put me out of my misery?"

"Oh, I couldn't do that," Panem said, "Not before you saw how awfully entertaining your little Lati got after we took you away."

"Don't _you_ call him Lati!" Estonia snapped, "That's my name for him; no one else's!"

"Fine, then," Panem said, "But you ought to watch, Estonia, and see what your precious Raivis has been up to."

She held up a remote, and Estonia had to wonder if the girl spent her spare time watching horror films. It seemed likely, considering her obsession with recording every gruesome detail of the nations' torment.

Panem clicked the remote, and a TV at the far end of the room came on. At first, there was only static. Then, it showed footage from the very familiar kitchen in the prison, where Estonia had been tortured. Was it only one day since Panem had tortured him there? Two days? He did not know.

For a moment, the kitchen seemed to be deserted. Then, the door opened, and in stepped Latvia. For a moment, Estonia was relieved, for the small boy appeared to be perfectly all right. But then, he made the mistake of looking into Latvia's violet eyes as the boy turned in the direction of the camera, and saw a pained, maddened look in those eyes.

"Oh, I forgot!" Panem said suddenly, pausing the video and freezing Latvia's image on the screen, "You need to come down off that table, Estonia!"

Estonia froze, staring wide-eyed at the blurry image of his little brother on the screen.

_"She's going to torture me again, isn't she? No, not again, please not again! I don't want to die! I'm so weak already, even if she _did_ give me a blood transfusion…"_

Panem was unfastening the restraints around Estonia's wrists, and then the ones around his ankles.

"Please, don't hurt me," Estonia whispered, "_Please_. I'll do anything, just don't…"

"Aw, Estonia…" Panem said, coming over and petting his hair in an almost gentle manner, "It's going to be okay. But, yes, I am going to hurt you, and there's nothing you can do."

She leaned toward him, her smile the most malicious thing Estonia had ever seen.

"If you don't cooperate with me, you will never see your precious Latvia again. I will keep you here, in this lab, and I will torture you until you die. I've always wanted to vivisect someone… I'm no scientist, but cutting someone open and taking a peek at their insides sounds so fun…"

Estonia's eyes darted to the anguished, mad look on Latvia's frozen face, and he knew that he could not leave the boy alone. He sat up, bowing his head to try and disguise the tears that were already spilling from his eyes.

"Fine. Do whatever you want to me. Just…don't make it too slow… Please."

"Kneel on the floor, and don't move," Panem said, smiling.

Shaking, Estonia complied, realizing as he did so that his shirt had been removed while he was unconscious. Blushing, the boy lowered his head, clenching his fists, waiting for the inevitable torture. Panem pressed play, and the video began once again. Latvia walked over the plates of food, staring at them for a long moment. Then, with an angry, anguished cry, he picked up one plate, and smashed it on the ground.

And Estonia cried out in pain as Panem kicked him, sending him sprawling sideways on the ground.

"For every object your precious brother breaks," Panem said, smiling down at him, "_You_ bear the punishment. One kick for every object Latvia breaks. Do you understand the game, Estonia? I certainly hope so."

Estonia did not reply, instead turning his head to watch Latvia on the television. The boy stared down at the smashed plate, and there was a sad, hopeless look on his face. Estonia wanted to reach out to him, to tell the boy that he, Estonia, was all right… But he could not, for Latvia was not there. There was no way to stop the boy, no way to stop his own torment.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Latvia murmured, staring down at the smashed plate. Tears spilled from the small boy's eyes, and he turned his face toward the camera again, his expression utterly hopeless.

"It doesn't matter," he repeated, his voice taking on an almost singsong quality, "Eddy's gone. It doesn't matter anymore."

Latvia turned back to stare at the neat row of plates and water glasses, and then, with a loud, heartfelt scream, he sent the entire row crashing to the ground.

Estonia calculated in his head. There were at least four water glasses, maybe five, and three plates, not counting the one Latvia had broken. Panem kicked him again, and he fought to hold back tears, to no avail.

_"Lati… Raivis, I'm alive. Please don't break anything else! Panem will torture me until you stop! Stop, Lati, stop! She will kill me…"_

The kicking finally ceased, but after how many kicks, Estonia did not know. He turned his head weakly toward the screen, to see Latvia standing in the middle of the shattered plates and glasses, smiling in a sad, tragic way.

"Nothing matters anymore," the child murmured, his broken smile making him seem younger, somehow. "They murdered Eddy and Toris."

Latvia paused, and then, sobbing, he continued.

"So why don't you kill me, too?!"

No response, of course, and Estonia wanted to reach out, to take Latvia in his arms and run away, far away from the insanity of this place and the cruelty of Panem.

"Tell you what," Latvia said, "I'll give you as many reasons to kill me as I can. Eventually, you'll get fed up with me, and then…"

The boy laughed, bitterly and sadly.

"Then you can put me out of my misery."

Latvia turned and began climbing onto one of the cupboards, and, realizing what the boy was going to do, Estonia closed his eyes.

_"Oh, Raivis. Please don't destroy everything. I don't think I'll survive if you do."_

He heard crashing from the direction of the TV, and as the crashing began, Panem started to kick him again. Estonia did not open his eyes, but tears leaked past his eyelids, spilling out onto his face. Panem kicked him in the stomach, and he gasped, whimpering, and resisting the urge to curl into a ball. That would only make it worse, but he wanted to protect his vulnerable, thin body as much as possible.

Eventually, he did curl into a ball, and as he did so, Panem kicked him in the head. Sobbing, Estonia put his hands over his head, and closed his eyes tighter, hoping that he would soon fall unconscious. It hurt terribly, and as Panem moved behind him, now kicking at his exposed back, Estonia screamed, a wordless cry of utter despair and agony.

Then, suddenly, he was confused and begging for mercy, not from Panem, but from another who had tortured him long, long ago.

"No more! No more! Please, please, Mr. Russia, I'll behave, I promise! I… I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt me!"

No reply, only laughter that, to Estonia's confused mind, sounded enough like Russia's to confirm the illusion.

"_Palun_!" he pleaded, only to be kicked harder. He remembered an important detail, then, and, weeping harder, he managed to gasp out, "I'm sorry! I forgot I'm not allowed to speak my language! Please forgive me! I'll be good from now on!"

"Poor little Eduard," said a voice, and Estonia could not remember the identity of the voice's owner, "You always flashback to Russia. Did he beat you like this? I always heard that he did this more to Lithuania, but he must have hurt you too, or you wouldn't have all those scars."

_"He beat me with his pipe, generally. He seemed to want to crush my bones the way he crushed my mind and my spirit…"_

Realizing now that he was back with Panem, Estonia did not have the strength to fight any longer. His tensed body relaxed, and although Panem's steel-toed boots continued to break him, he did not care any longer. His entire body ached; what was one more injury? He wanted only to go to sleep and escape the pain…

Time passed, and Estonia ceased to care what happened to him. Latvia already believed him dead. Let him die, then, if only he could escape this agony. He did not care anymore.

* * *

**Palun (Estonian) - Please**

**So, this chapter starts a pretty major plotline for America, and, yes, Estonia is _still_ taking over the story. I'm planning a chapter for a couple weeks down the road that will kind of be an update on everyone and their mental states and such, so yeah. I know a lot of the characters aren't in here much, but that will change. (Hopefully.)**

**Also, would a timeline of events be helpful to anyone besides me? I'm thinking of posting one in the AN every few weeks to update on how long the nations have been in prison, etc. So, if it would be helpful to you all, I may go ahead with it next week.**

**ALSO! This story now has exactly 75 reviews, so I'd like to extend a huge thank you to all of you! You guys seriously have no idea how much your reviews help me with the plot (because half the time I have no idea what I'm doing), so thank you for all your support! :)**


	18. Fear

Chapter Eighteen: Fear

Finally having been returned to his cell, America refused to speak, or even to look at England. The boy could not even begin to think of how he could explain what he had done. Not to England. The older man would only call him an idiot, and although he knew with certainty that he was, in fact, an idiot, he hated hearing those words from England's lips, hated the knowledge that his older brother thought of him as a failure.

He _was _a failure. He knew this to be true, for he had truly failed this time. He had allowed things to be made worse for everyone.

He ought to have known that Panem would never agree to let him sacrifice himself for the others. He ought to have known that she would hurt someone else in front of him, instead of hurting him. He had been a fool, and he had failed to save his friends.

But his failure was made worse by the horrifying suspicion that Belarus might not be the last victim. For it was quite likely that Panem would hurt the other prisoners, as well. America did not want to think about that possibility, but it seemed so, so likely that Panem would hurt the others as well as Belarus. And if she planned to punish everyone but America, then it was likely that England would be punished the most, as he was the person most dear to America. And America knew that he could not bear to see the older man tortured. Not again, not after all that England had already been through for his sake.

Horrified, he thought of Estonia, who had already been subjected to what was perhaps an even greater torture than England had. Panem had seen America try to comfort the boy… And if she tortured Estonia… It was only a matter of time, America knew, before Estonia snapped. Lithuania had once told him, in broken, halting sentences, of all that had happened to the Baltics. It was then that he had learned of Estonia's insanity, and he knew that the boy had never recovered fully from the scars of the torture he had been subjected to in Russia's house.

And… Who else was there? America did not know, but he feared he would soon find out. He was afraid that Panem would torture and perhaps even kill the other prisoners, all because of his failure.

"Alfred?"

England's voice. No, England must not see him crying. England must not know that he had failed. He would break completely if England were to say that word. He could not bear to be called an idiot again, even if he was one. He knew he was an idiot, knew he deserved the title…

But he had tried to help the others, and had failed. They would all be tortured, and he alone would remain unharmed. That was the way it always seemed to be. He could only watch as his friends were tortured, and he realized that this must be how Latvia felt as well. For Latvia, America knew, had witnessed Estonia's torture at least once, and the tiny boy had also been there when they had been forced to watch the recording of Lithuania's demise.

"Iggy, go away," he choked out. "Please."

England was standing right in front of him. He could see the older man's boots, and the tattered legs of England's pants. America wanted to disappear. He did not want England to see him cry, did not want England to know that he had failed.

"What happened to you?" England murmured, and suddenly, he was kneeling in front of America, his green eyes bearing a worried expression in their pained, emerald depths. "What did she do to you, Alfred?"

America looked away, shaking his head.

"Not telling. Doesn't matter," he said stubbornly, like a child.

"America!"

There it was. England's angry, condescending voice, the tone that insinuated that America was a worthless fool, good for nothing but causing problems. Which was the truth, but it was not a truth that America wanted England to believe.

_"I wanted to be the hero for _him_… I wanted to make him proud… And I failed… And… And… He's gonna be so disappointed in me!"_

"I don't want you to know," he said. "I don't want to tell you."

"I… Alfred…" England looked utterly helpless, so sad and so small next to America, who was a head taller and had been so for many, many years, but who had always felt as if he would never be big enough, strong enough, or brave enough for England, who, oddly, was small in stature, but, America now knew for certain, was great in courage and strength, greater than he could ever be.

"You'll be so disappointed in me," America whispered, looking away, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. "So don't make me tell you. I don't want to hear you call me an idiot… Not again, Iggy... I can't take it…"

"Oh, _Alfred_…"

England was embracing him, and America found a comfort in the older man's embrace that he has not felt since he was a child, living with England, ever under the other man's care and protection. It had been so much better then, and he wanted to go back to that time. But he could not. He did not deserve to, even if it were possible. He had failed.

"I could never mean that," England said, stroking America's hair. Something about the gesture felt wrong, and America realized suddenly that it was because the hand England was stroking his hair with was the hand that Panem had maimed.

"I don't hate you," England continued, still stroking America's hair with his broken hand, embracing the boy with his whole one. "I never could, Alfie, do you understand?"

"You called me an idiot _so many times_," America whispered, the anguish in his tone unmistakable, he thought, even to England.

"I… I'm sorry, Alfie," England said, sounding almost as if he were surprised to learn that America had even noticed that he was being called an idiot. "Will you… Will you forgive me for that?"

America froze, his mind racing. It made no sense. England-strong, brave, amazing England-was apologizing. As if it were England's fault that he, America, was a world class idiot.

"I… Yeah," he murmured. "Of course I forgive you… But, Iggy… Before you ask me to forgive you for calling me an idiot… Don't you want to know how much of an idiot I've actually been?"

He felt England stiffen, and knew how disappointed the older man would be in him.

_"I failed him, I failed him… I failed them all… I'm so stupid… And so non-heroic… I should just… I should stop. I just need to tell him… So he can hate me, and I won't have to dread that moment any longer. He'll hate me when he hears how stupid I've been, this time."_

"You only tell me what you did if you want to, Alfred," England said slowly, his voice quiet and tense. "I will still be your brother, and I will still love you, no matter what. Even if you did do something stupid… That doesn't change the fact that you're my brother. You know that, don't you?"

There was no judgment in England's voice, merely a quiet resignation to the fact that America had done something wrong. He was not judging America for that… Merely accepting that it had happened.

And America began to sob harder, the whole story coming out between the agonized, broken sobs that shook his body. And when it was all over, and he had told everything, he found that England was still there, still holding him as he cried, and he found that there was no condemnation in the British man's voice or actions.

"It's all right, Alfie…"

It was not all right. It would never be all right again. He had failed to be the hero again. He had made it worse for everyone. Didn't England see that?

"You'll be all right."

It did not matter if he was all right. What he wanted was for everyone else to be all right, and, because of his failure, they could never be all right. He was willing to die, if the others could only be saved. But it seemed as if he alone would survive, while those he wished to save fell all around him. This was not what he had wanted. He did not want to save himself.

"I'm going to protect you. Nothing will happen to you, Alfie… I promise."

He did not want England to protect him. He wanted to protect England, and Estonia and Latvia and everyone else imprisoned by Panem. He wanted to save them. But of course England would protect him. Of course, Panem would punish the others for America's crimes.

There was nothing he could do.

And then, trapped in an unending despair, still clinging to his older brother as if he were clinging to life itself, America cried as he had never cried before. And as he cried, sobbing and screaming and trying to apologize, England began to rock him back and forth, gently, soothingly.

Eventually, America became too exhausted to cry aloud any longer. But even when his sobs faded away, still England held him, rocking him back and forth, back and forth, always kindly, and never hurting him at all.

Seeing his brother's kindness even in the midst of all the pain the man had been put through because of America, the boy began to cry again. This time, though, his tears were silent and unnoticed by England, who continued to rock him, stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort.

* * *

Looking at the cowering, pitiful boy who lay sprawled on the floor, Panem had trouble believing that anything that pathetic could ever have been an immortal nation. He seemed so small, fragile… Broken, too, and shattered beyond belief. And yet there was something that fueled this fragile-looking boy, something that Panem herself possessed on a greater level, a more dangerous level. She knew that, in a way, she and Estonia were just alike, and she hated that knowledge.

But she hated even more the knowledge that Estonia had qualities that made him endearing to a certain curly-haired Latvian, and that these qualities were, somehow, traits that she would never possess.

It was jealousy that made her treat Estonia as she did, and she also hurt him out of anger. She hated him for always dragging Latvia off somewhere, as if there was something harmful in letting the boy anywhere near her. Estonia had always done that, even when she was a child…

And she remembered the short, blissful hours that she and Latvia had played together, under the table at the world conference, and somehow, those were the only happy memories that she still had. The others were shattered, mere fragments of her old, half-sane life. Panem could barely remember another happy time in her life, besides the times she had played with Latvia. Latvia had been kind to her, when she was a child. So kind that she had resented America deeply when he finally told her that she was old enough to stay home alone, and not go to the conferences with him and bother people. He had told her, in a way, that she was not good enough for Latvia, when the boy was the only person who had ever truly cared for her. America had told her that she was no more than a bother to Latvia.

That, Panem knew, was all that she had ever been to anyone. A bother. Or, at least, she had been a bother to everyone except Latvia. She believed that he really had enjoyed her company, really had cared. She remembered…

_"Hey, Mr. Latvia? Do you like me?"_

_The boy blinked at her, his violet eyes slightly concerned and so, so adorable..._

_"Yeah, I like you," he said, reaching over to pat her head, "You're really cute, Panem. L-like… You've always been really cute, e-ever since you were little, but n-now you're getting cuter…"_

_She was physically twelve, and it was only a few months before the day that America would tell her that she would never again tag along to the world meeting, because she 'only got in the way'. She had not yet been told that she was 'just a distraction'. _

_Latvia blushed lightly, and Panem privately thought that it was the cutest thing she had ever seen. She was already a little taller than the tiny boy, and her feelings of friendship for him, born when she was a six year old child playing with him under the table, were morphing into something else. He was still the only person who had come back, time and time again, to play with her. All other nations were disinterested in her, the mystery child, as long as she did not try to invade their land. But Latvia… Latvia played with her, laughed with her, and as she got older, she had started sharing secrets with him, a little at a time._

_"Why do you like me?" she asked, watching him carefully, "Why do you like me when the rest of the world doesn't?"_

"Is it because you're alone too, Latvia? Or is for some totally different reason? Are you just being kind…or are we just alike? C-could we be just alike…? I would be happy if we were alike, because then I wouldn't be alone…"

_"W-well… You're fun to hang out with," Latvia said, frowning thoughtfully, "And the meetings aren't so b-boring with you around. I used to g-get a little bit bored… And scared, because…"_

_He paused, and then continued softly._

_"Because there are some scary people here."_

_Panem glanced around at the rows of booted feet, which were all she could see of the nations from her position under the table._

_"Who?" she whispered._

_"U-um… I s-shouldn't tell you…" Latvia said softly, and she saw, to her surprise, that he was afraid of something. She did not know what, but it angered her to see him frightened of someone. It was one of the few times that she felt hatred for someone because they had wronged a person who was not herself. It was the first time that she wanted to murder someone that she had probably never spoken to._

_She saw Latvia's eyes dart from side to side, saw that he was terrified of something or someone, and saw him nervously staring at his shaking hands. And she saw on those hands something she had never seen before._

_She saw scars._

_"Who hurt you?!" she blurted loudly, and suddenly, one of the pairs of feet moved, and a blonde head poked itself under the table._

_"Raivis, get out from under there!" Estonia snapped, and, shaking, Latvia obeyed, his eyes wide with a strange fear, a fear that Panem did not understand. It was as if Latvia was afraid of Estonia, but he also loved Estonia, and… _

_And he did not look at Panem with that same depth of love that he always gave to Estonia. And she realized that while she was something Latvia, she was not what Estonia was. And that made her very, very angry with Estonia, who was the reason she had never even had a chance with Latvia. Because of him, she had never had a chance to be happy._

She came back to the present with a start, seeing that Estonia was sitting up, watching her through tired, dull blue eyes.

"Well, Estonia," she said, smirking, "You had enough yet?"

"Y-yes," Estonia whispered, his voice hoarse and pained, "Please…"

"Good!" Panem sang, "Now, you get to stay here for the night again! I'd tell you to get back on the table so I can tie you down, but I don't think you'll do that for me, will you?"

The horror in Estonia's eyes was plain to see, and Panem loved it, seeing him so frightened. It was payback, payback for what he had done, keeping Latvia for himself when she so desperately needed that little boy.

_"If you'd have just let me be friends with him, maybe I wouldn't be this way. Maybe I'd be normal. If you people would have just let me have the one person who ever cared…"_

"I'll have my guards come secure you in a minute," she said, smiling sweetly, "Have a nice night, Estonia!"

She turned away from him, but she had barely made it a step toward the door before someone grabbed the back of her shirt, halting her in her tracks.

She froze, waiting. She had not expected this, and she felt her breathing speed up slightly, as she remembered that she was alone with someone who was just as dangerous as she was.

"Please…"

Estonia's voice was broken, hoarse, terrified. Not the voice of a psychopath, but the voice of a child, frightened and alone.

"Panem, please."

She glanced back at him, seeing that he had a tight hold on her shirt, his head lowered. He refused to look her in the eyes, but she could see the fear in those half-dead eyes, and she knew that he was on the point of breaking. She almost wanted to see him break, now, wanted to be able to punish him even more, wanted to be able to use the excuse that he was mad, and madmen did not feel pain as normal people did.

But mad people did feel pain, and she knew it very well. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was not sane. It did not matter. It was no use to be sane, not in this world. She might as well remain insane, able to deal out punishment without remorse. They had wronged her. They had no one but themselves to blame for what she had done to them and to their world. They had no one but themselves to blame for the monster she had become.

She wanted to punish Estonia, over and over until he could no longer even scream, until he was nothing more than a piece of quivering, lacerated flesh that might have once been human. This was what she wanted to do to Estonia, and all this out of pure jealousy.

She wanted to do the same to America, but more slowly. She wanted him to see that he had been wrong to hurt her as he did, and she would do so by hurting everyone he had ever loved. She would murder all those that her brother had loved more than he had loved her. But she did not feel quite the same urge to reduce him to something that could not even be recognized as human. She merely wished to see America realize that he had been wrong to treat her as he had. She wanted to make him feel her pain-the pain of being utterly alone.

America would be the second to last nation to die, if all went according to plan. And Latvia would be last, for Panem had no wish to kill the boy. She wished to keep him, perhaps forever… For he understood her. He had once come close to loving her, she thought, but, of course, he had been stolen away by Estonia.

And Estonia did not understand, would never understand. Estonia must be punished for his crimes.

He had been pleading with her as she stood there, immobile, and now, she began to listen to him, seeing what ridiculous pleas the boy could come up with.

And to her shock, she heard a pleading, sad voice that might have been her own, so familiar were the words.

"Please, please… Don't leave me alone in the dark! I hate being alone, it's the worst thing in the world, please… Please don't leave me. I'm scared."

These words could have been spoken by Panem herself, had she ever had the courage to say them. She had wanted to, many times, as America left her after saying goodnight, back when she had lived with him. But as a child, she had never had the courage. And as a teenager, she had become too proud to beg America for anything.

And when she heard Estonia's words, she had an idea. The emotion she felt was not pity, or if it was, she did not acknowledge it as such. But a plan began to form in her mind, something that would not leave Estonia alone, but would instead make him wish that he _had_ been left alone.

_"I'd been planning to have a little fun with Latvia while Estonia was locked up in here. But… I can still have fun with him, and play a bit with Estonia, too."_

She turned back to Estonia, smiling widely.

"All right, Estonia," she said, "I won't leave you alone. You're coming to stay the night with me!"

* * *

Estonia stared at Panem, not daring to believe his own ears. It was impossible to think that she was actually taking pity on him. There was simply no way that such a monster would pity him…

So what game was she playing? Had he even heard her correctly? Perhaps he had not, perhaps he_ would_ have to stay here, alone in darkness through the long night. And that would be a terrible fate, one that he would not be able to withstand. Left alone, Estonia knew, his last fragment of sanity would desert him, and he would be left with a shell of his former self… And that shell of himself would be a twisted persona that was almost worse than anything Panem could ever be. For Estonia had withstood centuries of torment, and now, he knew, he would torture all in his path for what they had done to him, if only his sanity slipped a little further into the dark void where his demons lurked, waiting for him.

"Come _on_, Estonia!" Panem said, sounding impatient. "Or do you want me to leave you here? I thought you were scared of being alone?"

"You aren't lying to me…" Estonia said in disbelief. He heard exhaustion and pain in his own voice, and in that moment, he almost decided to goad Panem a little further. He was exhausted, hurt, close to death. He could still function, but a little more torture, and his body would shut down fully. It would be bliss, and safety, and sanity, and if he were to die, there would be no one to hurt him anymore…

But there was the possibility of returning to Latvia's side, and that was a ray of hope that he could not dismiss. If there was a way, he must get back to Latvia. He must not leave his best friend and little brother alone.

"Nope!" Panem declared. "But I'll still leave you if you don't hurry up!"

Shakily, Estonia forced himself to his feet. He found that the glass had been removed, and that the cuts were healing. Walking was still painful, but it was possible.

He followed Panem out the door, limping, but still able to walk almost without stumbling. They were on the prison floor, he saw immediately, and there was the elevator just ahead. Estonia limped after Panem, who was standing just in front of the elevator doors, waiting. As he approached, she tapped the up button, and the doors slid open.

"I'm just assuming that you don't want to push the buttons," Panem commented as she stepped inside the elevator. "You didn't seem to like it when Latvia pressed them…"

"I don't want to touch anything you've touched!" Estonia spat, the pain in his voice cancelling out any menace that might have been in his words.

"I wouldn't recommend touching Latvia's hair, then," Panem said, grinning. "Although I'd hate to see you miss out. He has the softest hair… Still, more of Latvia for me, if you don't want to touch anything I've touched."

"Leave Latvia alone!" Estonia growled. The elevator was moving up, now, and for a moment, he had a gruesome fantasy of murdering Panem there, in the elevator. They were alone, and no one would be able to stop him. And he could envision her bones cracking, could almost hear her screaming, and he wanted to do it…

The elevator doors opened. His chance to kill Panem had slipped away.

* * *

Although she would never admit it, Panem had been frightened for a brief moment, in the elevator. She had heard murder in Estonia's voice, seen it in his eyes, and for a few seconds, alone with someone nearly as psychopathic as herself, she had been frightened.

But now she was safe, out in the hallways again, and she could hear Estonia hobbling after her, whimpering in pain. His feet, of course, had not yet healed, and therefore, he must be in great pain.

She realized that there was one flaw in her newest scheme. She would be alone with Estonia for most of the night, and that might lead to her demise. But there would be guards outside, ready to assist her. She would see to it. And anyways, it was not as if the pathetic boy was in any condition to harm her.

No, if anything, she would harm him. But not in the way he would expect. No, this time, she wanted to play with his mind, see if she could push him back into true insanity.

It might be nice to have some company, someone else who might possibly understand what it was like to have voices in your head, fears and desires that consumed you. Panem knew enough of nations' madness to know that she, too, was insane. But she did not care, merely longed for someone to acknowledge the pain she was in, someone who would not judge her for it.

The natural choice, of course, being a certain child who had been kind to her. Estonia was merely the third wheel, an unavoidable flaw in her plan. But she could use him to drive Latvia to insanity, and if she drove the child there, then she would not be alone anymore. She would have someone who understood, she would be able to keep him there for a while, and for a while, she would not have to deal with this terrible, unbearable fear of being alone in her insanity.

But first she had to drive him mad. And to do that, she must drive Estonia to insanity as well. For in destroying one Baltic, Panem believed, she could destroy all of them. After seeing Latvia snap, the day he had learned what had been done to Lithuania, she was confident that she could destroy the remaining Baltics using the very people they held most dear against them.

They had reached their destination, now, and, stopping, Panem turned and smiled at Estonia.

"Well, here we are!" she sang. "No more walking for a while! I'm sure you're absolutely thrilled to learn that, aren't you?"

She turned to the door in front of her, inserting a key into the lock. She had the only key to her own room. She was most certainly not paranoid. She simply did not want anyone poking around in her room. And therefore, she had the only key.

Once she had opened the door, she marched in, leaving Estonia to follow. To her surprise, the boy shut the door behind him, and it seemed like an automatic gesture.

"What's that about?" Panem asked. "Do you _want _to be shut in here with me?"

Estonia paused, looking slightly frightened.

"We used to close the doors so the others wouldn't hear us screaming," he whispered, and Panem knew without a doubt who the 'we' in question must refer to.

"You people are ridiculously, stupidly loyal to each other," she said. "Have they never betrayed you, Estonia?"

She remembered a secret that Latvia had told her, one that Estonia was unaware that she knew, and decided that this was an appropriate time to reveal that she knew his secret.

"I know how you got that scar," she said. "You know the one, Eduard. The scar on your heart. I know how you got it."

Estonia stiffened. There was pain in his eyes, and fear, and grief.

"Who told you?" he murmured, and she heard the unspoken 'Who betrayed me?' hidden in his voice.

"A little Latvian," she said,"A long time ago, when we hid under tables and played together. He told me a lot of things. Actually, he cried in my arms once or twice. I…"

She broke off quickly, looking away. She had been going to say that she had cried in Latvia's arms, too, but that would be admitting weakness, and she was not weak. She would never be weak again.

"Then he made a stupid mistake," Estonia said coldly. "He always did trust the wrong people. And he never could keep his mouth shut, either."

"He's adorable," Panem said. "Even his habit of blurting things out randomly is cute. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

"You've been betrayed before," she said. "Lithuania stabbed you in the heart. And he did so on purpose. Why do you think he did that, Estonia?"

"He was trying to help!" Estonia said, sounding frightened, even slightly desperate. "I wasn't in my right mind! It wasn't Toris' fault!"

Panem chuckled. There it was. She had him.

"You're so blind," she said. "Did it ever cross your mind that he did it because he hated you, Eduard?"

Estonia made a strangled sobbing noise, and Panem knew that she had been right. Estonia had, at the very least, considered that possibility.

"He hated you," she said, smirking. "He told Raivis so, and Raivis told me. I don't know exactly why he hated you, but allow me to guess. Maybe he hated you for getting in the way, for messing things up. Perhaps he hated you for trying to take on his burden. And maybe not just for that. You are pathetic, and your precious Lithuania knew it! He knew it, Estonia! He knew you were a fool to ever try to be Latvia's hero, and he despised you for even trying. Because you knew that you couldn't take the strain… Didn't you, Eduard?"

There were tears running down Estonia's face, tears of grief, and not of rage.

"No!" the boy sobbed, his voice broken, "No, you're wrong! Toris cared, he really cared! He… He might have been angry with me… B-but he didn't hate me… He didn't…"

_"Of course he didn't," _Panem thought. _"He was a stupid, weak, selfless fool, and he wasn't even capable of hating Russia, who abused and hurt him all that time. Of course he didn't hate you. But I'll make you think he did!"_

"Yes, he did," she said aloud, smiling. "If he had loved you, he would never have hurt you, right?"

"Lithuania wanted to protect me!" Estonia screamed. "That's why he hated the fact that I tried to protect them! That's the only reason! He loved me! He was my brother, he loved me! H-he didn't hate me… He knew why I tried to save them… He couldn't hate me for it… He couldn't…"

"Then here's some food for thought," Panem said, "What if he hated you, not for trying to protect him and Raivis, but for going insane? What if he hated you for the things you tried to do? He was so much better than you, useless Eduard… Of course he would despise something like you, something that is so weak and stupid and ugly and _insane_…"

She smiled, seeing the tears run ever faster down Estonia's cheeks.

"You will never be as good as your big brother," she said. "And you will never be as wonderful as your little brother. Estonia, do you want to know why _I_ think Lithuania hated you? He hated you because you are _worthless_!"

* * *

**I couldn't think of anything to say in the beginning, so, author's note at the end again! **

**Well, as requested, we finally see Panem's perspective in this chapter! She'll probably have more POVs every so often, simply because I love writing from the villain's perspective, but I seldom get to do it. **

**I am planning to post the timeline along with the 'status update' chapter, which will probably be a couple weeks down the road. As it's sort of a transitional chapter, I felt like it would be a good idea to post the timeline with that. I'm planning that chapter to be chapter twenty-two (probably), so it will be a little while, but not too long. If I get the timeline done, I'll post it sooner than that.**

**ALSO! I will not be updating next week, as I am leaving for Florida on Thursday. I will not be back online until Monday at the earliest, or the following Thursday at the absolute latest. So, if I go inactive during that time, don't worry, I WILL BE BACK! **

**(Also, I swear that there will be POVs from people who are not Estonia...eventually.) **

**I really can't thank you guys enough for all your reviews, so thank you again! :) I'm glad you're all enjoying the story, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy it as it keeps progressing! **


	19. Broken

Chapter Nineteen: Broken

Estonia heard Panem's words, and found himself unwittingly transported to a time in the distant past, to the day when he had first been told that he was worthless, that no one would ever love him.

He heard Russia's words in his head, and he knew that he would never be able to escape those words or the insanity that the words had led him into. And still he knew that he must not allow what Panem had said to hurt him. It was not true. It could not be true.

But what if Lithuania really had hated him? He had always wondered, deep inside, if the other boy really had despised him for his weakness, for allowing himself to go insane.

He remembered the pain and betrayal of being stabbed by his brother, and he felt a terrible pain in his chest, where he had been permanently scarred by Lithuania's blade.

He let out a strangled, broken sob, and then, faintly, he heard screaming cries, denying that whoever was crying out had been hated by his brother. It took him a minute, but he realized suddenly that the screams were his own. But it was as if he were trapped inside his own mind, unable to take control of his body again. He could not stop himself from crying, nor could he escape from the torment by withdrawing further into his own mind.

And he was frightened, for he realized that to lose control of his own thoughts and movements and words was to begin to go insane. And he must not go insane. He would die if he went insane… _Latvia _would die if he went insane.

It was the thought of Latvia that brought him back, and he became aware that he was kneeling on the floor, shaking, his hands tightly clutching at his hair. There were tears in his eyes and on his face, and he was making a low keening sound that frightened even himself. He was rocking back and forth, sobbing and shaking, and he could feel the tendrils of some dark thing that was probably insanity wrapping around his mind, reaching out, enveloping him…

He was afraid. He wanted to go home, wanted to see Finland and Ukraine and Lithuania's smiling faces again. He wanted to see Latvia run off to play with Sealand, to see everyone he loved safe and happy…

Suddenly, the image was there, real and vivid in front of him. He saw his family and his friends, all safe and happy and alive, and he saw Sealand run off through the grass, Latvia chasing after him. The Latvian boy's curls blew back in the wind, and Estonia could see the joyful smile on his brother's face almost as if it was real.

And in his happy imagery of a life that he wanted but could never have, he saw a phantom girl, no more than twelve years old, running after Sealand and Latvia. Her hair was brown, wavy and long, and when she turned back to wave and smile at him, he realized that she was Panem as she had been at the last world conference she had ever attended. She was sixteen, now, but she had been twelve, then, and Estonia felt that he was seeing some sort of phantom of what ought to have been, were they normal, sane humans, instead of nations teetering on the brink of madness.

He was still making that keening sound, still rocking back and forth, and as he watched the child Panem ran after Sealand and Latvia, he found himself mentally begging the two phantom boys to wait for her, because if they would only wait, then things would be so, so different…

But they did not wait. They faded away, into the distance, and suddenly, Estonia's sunlit illusion was stained with blood. He saw Ukraine and Finland lying dead, Lithuania being stabbed through as he watched helplessly. He saw Sealand die, too, and that made no sense, because the micronations had done nothing wrong, and Panem had done nothing to them in this world. He tried to discern where Latvia was, but before he could do so, the child in his hallucination, the child who was Panem, came toward him, smiling. Her clothes and skin were stained with blood, the blood of his friends and of his family. He found himself trying to run away, only to be mysteriously immobilized, unable to move. Estonia closed his eyes tightly, trying to escape the girl's insane grin, to escape the pain that would inevitably be visited upon him…

He could not escape. He could no longer see Panem, but he could hear her, ranting at him, yelling for him to stop. He was not doing anything wrong, was he? Was he even in the real world anymore, or was he trapped forever inside his illusion?

Estonia screamed, and he found that once he started screaming, he could not stop. He cried out, sobbing with pain and regret as he saw the life that he would never have fall apart in his hallucination. He knew, somehow, that he was hallucinating, that this was not real… But he could not escape, and it was a terrible thing to be trapped inside his own head like this, trapped with the phantom image of a child called Panem, who was now completely mad, and whose supposedly innocent, childhood self was tormenting Estonia inside his own mind.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Estonia felt a blinding pain in his head. It was almost as if his head had exploded, and before he could discern the cause of this attack, he felt himself falling.

And then the world abruptly stopped, almost like a computer snapping off suddenly, going dark, and Estonia felt nothing at all.

* * *

Panem stared down at the unconscious form of Estonia, wondering what exactly it was that had caused him to go berserk as he had. He had not attempted to harm her, but had merely rocked back and forth on the floor, sobbing, and screaming in his own language. She could not have understood him even had she wanted to, and so, she had knocked him out to prevent his evident madness from causing harm to her or to her bedroom.

"You really are a madman," she said, gazing down at the Estonian, "You… You really are just like me, huh?"

She chuckled, a low, morbid sound.

"Isn't it scary, Eduard?" she murmured. "Isn't it…. I-isn't it lonely?"

For a moment, she wanted to talk to him in a way that she had not talked to anyone since her childhood, hiding under a table with Latvia. She wanted to explain her insanity to him, and perhaps she could find help from someone who was like her, someone who felt the same pain that she did.

But that was foolishness, because, in reality, she was not like Estonia. She would never cower as he did, would never allow herself to become that broken. Insane she might be, but she would not break as he had. At least, if she was truly mad, she was a madwoman who possessed a stubborn inability to let herself break.

She would never break as Estonia had. She did not need his help.

"I suppose, since you're asleep now, I don't need to stay here," she said, and the smile returned to her face.

_"Time to put my plan to work."_

She turned away, leaving the blonde Baltic asleep on the floor. But she looked back, and seeing him there, sprawled out unconscious, his glasses skewed, she thought that he looked very vulnerable, and that he looked frightened.

"Sleep well, Eduard," Panem murmured, not knowing why she said it, or why she cared at all whether or not Estonia's sleep was disturbed by nightmares. Then, she slipped out of the room, locking the door behind her. She was on her way to visit Latvia.

* * *

Latvia sat alone in his room, amidst a sea of broken and bent objects that he had strewn about the room. His hysteria had continued long after Panem's guards had come to take him from the kitchen which he had destroyed, had persisted long after he had been locked back into his room, alone.

He had destroyed his room, too, and for a long time now, Latvia had sat still, staring blankly at the wreckage. In his arms, the child clutched a pillow, the only one that he had not ripped apart in his hysterical madness. He could almost pretend, for a brief moment, that the pillow was a person or an animal, something alive, the only thing that had not left him. If he could only have something alive there with him, then he would be comforted, knowing he was not alone.

The agonized, painful fog in his mind had cleared a little as the hours passed. For a time, he had been unable to think coherently, his rage and grief erasing all other emotions. But now, slowly, he felt himself returning to reality.

He looked around at the damage he had caused, and then, he looked down at his scarred hands, which were shaking, and tightly clutching the pillow he held.

"I ruined everything," he whispered, and the tears began to fall. "I… It's my fault. Eddy would be alive if I hadn't been so stupid… M-maybe even Toris… Maybe, if I wasn't so stupid, maybe somehow I could have… Could have been there for Panem. L-like she wanted me to be. She… She's…"

The realization hit him suddenly, a shocking burst of clarity to the Latvian's tortured mind.

"Panem is Eddy," he murmured, "And Eddy is Panem. They're just the same."

It made sense to him, suddenly, and it was then that Latvia truly began to despise himself. For he had been blind, so blind, and had never even seen the signs that must have been there. He had witnessed Estonia's past insanity, and he ought to have seen the signs of Panem's descent into madness. But he had been so _blind_, had never even thought of the possibility that the little girl he had played with would ever go mad… He had missed all the signs. He had not even noticed. And Panem had gone mad as he stood by, oblivious to her pain.

"She has become just like my Eddy," Latvia whispered. The boy lifted his head to stare up at the ceiling, his violet eyes betraying the torment he felt deep inside.

"H-how…? How did I never notice? I… How could I?!"

"How could you, indeed?"

He heard Panem's voice, but he did not stir, remaining with his gaze lifted to the ceiling above him. There was no point in looking at her. It would only pain him further to see her face. He saw his failure, knew what he had done, and he despised himself for it.

He had doomed Estonia, it was true, but before he had ever done the thing that had led to his brother's death, he had sat by, uncaring and unnoticing, as a little girl's mind was destroyed. He had been right there, and had he tried harder, perhaps he could have saved her, and in saving her, he could also have saved his brothers. But he had never considered the possibility that Panem, too, would lose her mind, and so he had done nothing.

"I didn't think," he murmured. "I… It's my fault, right, Panem? You… Would you still be the way you are now, if I had tried to help you? Or… Would you be okay?"

She said nothing for a long moment, and when she did speak, he heard a strange uncertainty in her voice.

"I don't know, Lat," she said. "I might have been born with insanity in me, for all you know."

"No," said Latvia. "No one is born like that. It just… That's not the way it happens. Insanity is… Insanity is being hurt too much. Insanity is being left alone for too long. Insanity is longing for the innocence and protection you once had, and realizing that you will never have it again. Insanity… Is the most terrible thing in the world, because it hurts _you_ the least. You… You live with insanity, Panem. So does Eddy. And so do I. But the people around us…the normal people… Insanity scares them and hurts them. And… Eventually, if normal people are left with insane people for too long… They become like us. That's what happened to Eddy, Panem. That's what happened to me. But you… You had no one to love you… You had… Nothing… No one to teach you what was good and bad, and…"

"I don't care about what's good or bad," Panem said coldly. "It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," Latvia said. "Because when you know what the difference between good and bad is, and you have people who love you… Then you might not go insane. You might be okay. Panem, you're scared of being alone, aren't you?"

"I am not afraid of anything!" Panem shrieked, and suddenly, she was there with Latvia, standing with him in the midst of the ruin he had created.

"I am not afraid," she repeated. Latvia looked into her eyes, emerald and cold, and he saw madness in them, Estonia's madness, and he recalled a time when Estonia had held him at gunpoint, and he knew, then, with an even greater certainty, that Estonia and Panem were just the same.

"We killed you slowly, too," he said, as if in a dream. "We… P-Panem… We killed you, didn't we?"

"What are you talking about?" Panem asked, staring at him. "I'm not dead. I'll never die!"

"No," Latvia said slowly. "I don't mean that kind of death. I mean the kind of death where your mind is broken and you can no longer see things right. I mean the kind of death where… Panem, when we all did what we did, treating you the way we did… We killed everything you could've been. See? You could've been someone really amazing… But we killed that chance, all of us. Mr. America, and me, and Estonia, and Mr. China and… Everyone. We all killed you, and we didn't even realize it. I'm sorry, Panem. I didn't mean to."

She stared at him, uncomprehending, and he felt tears on his face as he continued to gaze upward, no longer at the ceiling, but at her, at the girl who was not sane, and was, in a sense, not even alive. She was, Latvia realized, not the child he had played with all those years ago. She was a tortured, twisted person now, and he was as much to blame as anyone else. For she had confided in him, had told him all her fears, and he had done nothing. He had not believed her.

_"H-hey, Latvia?" _

_He looked over at her. She was twelve at this time, and they had grown close over the years. He had told her things that he told no one else, and had cried in her arms. But she had never confided as much in him as he had in her. He had trusted her with a childish naivety, but she had kept her feelings deep inside. Until this day. This final day, the last world meeting that America had ever allowed her to attend._

_"Yeah?" he whispered. "What's up?"_

_"D-do you ever feel like nobody wants you?" Panem asked, and Latvia heard a catch in her voice, a sadness he had never heard from the girl before. _

_He looked down at his scarred hands, and saw that they were beginning to shake. _

_"Yes," he choked out. "I do."_

_"Then…" Panem was staring at him, her eyes wide and teary. "I'm not alone? I'm not… I'm not wrong to feel that way?"_

_"You think nobody wants you?!" Latvia squeaked. "B-but that's crazy, Panem… I mean, you live with Mr. America! Mr. America is amazing and really nice, so… How could you feel alone?"_

_Panem's stare was so sad, so empty and broken, and he should have seen that from the beginning, and helped her._

_"He's not like that," she said flatly, "Not to me. He doesn't care about me. H-he'll never care about m-me, n-not the way a b-big brother should…"_

_She was in tears, her head buried in her hands, and Latvia could only stare at her, uncomprehending. How could anyone be lonely living with America? It had made absolutely no sense to the boy, then…_

_But he should have known. He should have realized, seeing Panem cry, that she needed his help. He should have gone to her, should have crawled closer to her and held her as she cried that day. And he should have never left her side again._

"I was so stupid," Latvia said. There were tears running down his face, and he could only sit there, immobile, looking up at Panem, who was still staring at him, confusion and pain evident in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Panem," he said. "I should have stayed with you. I s-should have taken care of you… And then you wouldn't… You wouldn't be doing this now. I'm s-sorry…"

He could almost see it, for an instant. He could almost see the world as it might have been had he decided to bring Panem to his house, the world had he decided to take care of her. He could have done it. America probably would not have minded if he had taken Panem to live at his house. And had he done that, then perhaps… Perhaps he could have saved her from insanity.

"It's my fault," he said quietly. "I could have saved you."

And as he watched Panem, the pain in her eyes overcame the anger and confusion, and her face crumpled. She dropped to her knees; she was right there next to him. And still, there in his mind, was the knowledge that she had murdered Lithuania and Estonia. There was still hatred for her deep inside of him…

But first and foremost in his mind was the image of the child that Panem had once been, crying alone under the table.

"L-Latvia…"

Panem held out her hand, and he knew in that instant that this would only happen once. Tomorrow, Panem would be a psychopath again. But in this moment, he saw only the child she had been. And for the moment, he did not care what she had done. He wanted only to hold her and comfort her for one night, before the painful daylight came, and they both returned to their insanity.

He took her hand, allowing her to pull him into her arms. There was no thought of apology, no thought of change, from either of them. Both knew that when this night was over, all would be as it was before. Panem would continue her quest to destroy the world. Latvia would remain a prisoner. And both would spiral deeper into insanity.

But at this moment, they both longed above all else for the comfort of someone's arms around them.

In the midst of the ruin Latvia had inflicted, the two broken children cried in each other's arms.

* * *

China now believed that he was going to die. According to his very rough calculations, he ought to have been given some water hours ago. But there had been no water, no sound at all from the corridor outside, save for some commotion that, China thought, had resulted in Belarus being taken off somewhere. He did not know if she had returned, for he was beginning to feel faint, beginning to feel as if he were about to die of thirst, and he could no longer distinguish hallucination from reality.

Perhaps he would die. It would not be so surprising, after all, for him to die. Panem seemed to want him dead.

It might be a relief. Alone in the empty darkness, China's only relief came from talking to himself. He did so, not because he was insane, but to keep himself from slipping into that dark abyss from which no one could truly return. He did so to protect himself from insanity. And he did so in an attempt to keep himself from picturing the agony that his family must have felt as they died.

He was plagued constantly by the memory of them, of the children he had raised and whom he had loved dearly, and as he lay there in the darkness, half conscious, he saw their faces in his mind.

Some were smiling memories, and he smiled weakly himself, seeing them as children, seeing them play, seeing himself playing with them. Other memories were blood-stained and horrid, and he tried to shut these memories out, but was unable. The horrible pain of being stabbed, attacked, hurt by the children he had raised would not leave him. And still he did not hate them. He loved the children still, despite all the times he had been hurt by them…

There, alone in the darkness, feeling as if he might die of thirst, China saw the three children-who were technically children no longer- appear before him. The three whom he knew were dead, had, it seemed, come to visit him in the darkness of his cell. Korea was there, grinning widely for some unknown reason, and he could see Taiwan smiling equally bright. Hong Kong stood slightly behind them. His expression was grave, but China could see just a hint of a smile there.

The phantom children stayed there, almost real to China's half delirious mind, and then, before his tired eyes closed for an instant, he saw Taiwan move. She was first, and she was followed by the others. They gathered round him, and he wondered faintly if he was dying, or if perhaps the children were hallucinations.

He tried to speak, but found he could not. Taiwan was stroking his hair, while Hong Kong stood by gravely. Korea knelt on China's other side, but said nothing, and did not touch him. There was sadness in the boy's eyes, a deep sadness that China could not quite understand, especially not when it was coming from the once-cheerful Korea.

"Brother," Korea murmured. "You should rest."

And China still could not speak, although he had many questions. He did not even know if the children were real phantoms, if they were, perhaps, the ghosts of his family who had died, or if he was imagining all of this.

But he did know that they stayed with him for a long time, until he began to give in to his exhaustion.

And when he finally fell asleep, he did so still feeling Taiwan stroking his hair. And, somehow, at some point when he had not been paying attention, Hong Kong and Korea had each taken one of his hands in their grasp.

He still did not know whether he had hallucinated the presence of the ghost children, or if they really had come to see him. But he fell asleep with them there, and when he woke again, to find the three dead children gone, he half-believed that they had been real.

Some soldier was holding a cup of water to his lips, and China drank slowly, half wishing that he had the strength of will to let himself die. But he could not, yet, because he remembered his family…

And he believed that, even if he had hallucinated the entire thing, the ghosts of his family wanted him to live.

* * *

In the darkness of night, at a time when almost all the world had fallen silent, and there was no one awake to hear him, Lithuania locked himself in the bathroom to die.

He had planned this. The plan had first been conceived as he sat on Russia's bed, stroking the tall man's hair, and realizing that there was nothing he could do to help Russia now. If anything, it was Russia who would have to help him.

He, the once proud nation of Lithuania, had now become nothing more than a burden to someone who cared about him, to someone that he had once promised he would take care of. He had become a burden to Russia, and Russia did not need any more burdens to bear. The tall man already carried many demons deep inside him… He did not need the further pain of having to care for someone as far gone as Lithuania now was.

And so he would kill himself. The kitchen knives were sharp enough, and it could be done in a matter of minutes. Lithuania was experienced when it came to suicide attempts, for he had attempted suicide many times in the years after he had left Russia.

This time, he was mortal. This time, he would not fail.

He sat on the floor, leaning against the bathroom sink, staring at the blade in his hands. Many thoughts swirled through the boy's mind, but most of all, he felt a cold, deep resolve to end it all. He _must_ end it. There was only suffering on this earth, and in the darkness that now enveloped him, Lithuania no longer possessed the will to fight. No matter how much he suffered, it was for nothing. He could never regain his peace of mind, and so, he must die. It would be easier for Russia if he, Lithuania, were to die.

And so he must cease existing, forever. He wanted to die; had longed to die for many years now. He longed to disappear completely, and he could only hope that nothingness was what awaited him in death. In any case, the rest of the world would be better off without him. He had done nothing to save them, in the end, though he had tried.

But although he knew that he deserved to die for his failure, although he wished to die, still, alone in the darkness, preparing to end his life, Lithuania began to cry.

He cried for Estonia, who had lost his mind once, and had now probably succumbed to insanity again, all because he had not been there to save the boy on a dark day in midwinter, when Estonia had first stepped up to save Latvia, had first begun to fall into madness.

He cried for Latvia, whose innocence and childhood had been cruelly ripped away, once again because of Lithuania's failure to protect someone whom he loved dearly. He cried because his little brother was dead, or, if he was not, was imprisoned by a maddened girl who wished to end all former nations' lives.

He cried for Ukraine, for Poland, for America, for all those whom he believed had died in agony. And yet, his tears for them were not as deep, because, after all, he was planning to join them in death. To Lithuania, death was a welcome escape.

He cried for Belarus and for China, knowing that they were in prison, and wishing that they were here with Russia, and that he was there, in prison. Belarus had once loved him. China had been kind to him. They did not deserve the cruel fate they would doubtless meet in prison.

He cried for Russia, whom he knew would not understand his suicide. But in time, the Russian man must forget him. He was Lithuania, and his only purpose was to be beaten and abused to the point of insanity, and all for no purpose. There was no reason for anyone to remember him, not even the lonely Russian who seemed to value him far too deeply.

Selfishly, he cried for himself. He cried for his own lost childhood, ripped away so long ago that he no longer remembered what it felt to be safe and happy. He cried because he knew that his own mind had been shattered forever, and that he could never, ever recover from the scars on his body, both mental and physical, even if he did choose to live on. He cried because he would never again feel his brothers' embrace, would never again see Russia's smile… He cried because, in the end, he had never kissed the girl he loved.

He cried because it was his final night on earth. He cried because he knew that, once he was dead, he would be completely forgotten by all those he had loved, all those he had sacrificed his childhood and sanity for.

And then, when he had no more tears left to cry, Lithuania picked up the knife, which had lain on the floor beside him as he cried.

He slit his wrists, making certain that the cuts were deep and jagged, gritting his teeth and trying not to cry out aloud with the pain he was inflicting upon himself.

Then, his pale, trembling hands falling to his sides, Lithuania leaned his head back against the cupboard behind him, and waited to die.

* * *

**So... This was kind of a confusing chapter, I think? It's one of my personal favorites so far, but I think it is a bit confusing.**

**Stuff to note: Latvia does understand the reasons for Panem's insanity, now. He also knows that he doesn't have the strength or the mental ability to save her, and he also realizes that even if he did have that strength, she is beyond saving. He does, however, still care about her, even though he believes that she killed his family. She was his friend, once, and because of her similarities to Estonia, he can't help pitying her. **

**Also, China's hallucination/dream/thing. I honestly have no idea. Don't ask me if he dreamed it, or if he hallucinated it, or if there were actual ghosts there. I honestly don't know. **

**Well, in any case, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Also, I really need to thank you all for your support, and for just being there for me. Some of the people on this site seem to care more about me than anyone I know in real life, so thank you, all of you. You really do give me a reason to live, even if it is a rather pathetic reason. **


	20. Despair

**Well, did you all survive the week? I hope so... Ugh, you're not going to pay attention to this author's note, are you? **

**ATTENTION, READERS! IMPORTANT HEADLINES HERE!**

**This chapter is really, really long. I know that, but the 'status update' chapter is coming next week, and I didn't want to put two Canada POVs in there, and I needed both the scene in this chapter and the scene in the next one, so yeah. **

**Speaking of the status update-I've written it already, and it is literally almost 9000 words long, simply because I had about fourteen different nation POVs to write, and they're all around 600 words long. **

**So, I need to know: would you rather read two weeks of 'status update' (it's actually not that boring-things happen even in status updates, you know?), or would you rather have the whole huge chapter at once? I realize that long chapters are super overwhelming, and I don't want to overwhelm you, so please tell me what you'd prefer!**

**ALSO! There is one scene in this chapter that, while not explicit, does deal with some sexual themes. It only goes as far as kissing, but there are things implied in the dialogue, which, although they don't actually take place, are of a sexual nature. It's not at all explicit, again, but as it might make some people feel uncomfortable, I'm asterisking the beginning and ending of that scene, and I will summarize the crucial moments of that scene at the end, since it is important to the plot. **

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Despair

Russia was frightened. He had heard Lithuania walk down the hallway to the bathroom thirty minutes earlier, and the boy had still not returned. He had dismissed the Lithuanian's absence at first-Lithuania was probably just taking an extra long time in the bathroom, or, perhaps, recovering from another nightmare.

But now, half an hour had elapsed, and the boy still had not come back. So Russia left the safe, comforting warmth of his bed, padding silently down the hallway to the bathroom.

There was no light coming from under the door. This was the first thing that alerted Russia to the fact that there really was some problem. And a dreadful suspicion began to form in his mind, a fear that he desperately hoped would not be realized.

"_L-Litva_? Are you being in there at this time?"

He waited, hoping, praying, that Lithuania would answer him, and that the Baltic boy would be all right. And Lithuania did answer, finally.

"I'm fine, Russia. P-please go back to bed. I… I'll be finished soon."

And from the trembling weakness in Lithuania's voice, from the agony Russia heard there, and from the word 'finished'… From all of this, he knew that Lithuania was dying.

"_Litva_!" he shouted, suddenly panicked. "What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing, Russia," Lithuania said, and Russia heard the bitter smile in his voice. "Don't worry. It will all be over soon."

"W-what are you saying?" Russia whispered, leaning his head against the door, twisting the knob back and forth futilely. "What are you doing?"

_"He can't die… He can't he can't he can't… Not him, no…"_

"It doesn't matter anymore," Lithuania said, his voice so very quiet. "You're too late, Ivan. You can't get in. I won't let you in. I… I want to die. Leave me alone."

"_Nyet_!" Russia screamed, his fears confirmed by Lithuania's words. "You will let me in right now! Now, Toris!"

Lithuania could not die. If Lithuania died, then Russia was alone, and if he was alone, he would lose his mind. He knew this for certain, and he was frightened of insanity, for he knew that were anyone to find him in his lonely madness, he would never let them leave him. He would imprison them, and, perhaps, he would never allow them to leave, as he had tried to do to Lithuania for so long. Perhaps this time would be the true breaking point, the time when he would truly destroy himself, along with whoever he managed to drag down with him…

But he had already destroyed Lithuania. He knew he had, and he knew that it was his fault that the boy was trying to kill himself now. But he also knew that he needed Lithuania, that he would go mad without him, and even if it was his fault that Lithuania was dying, even if the boy had probably killed himself to get away from him…

He could not lose his _Litva_. It was simply not possible for him to survive alone, without the Baltic boy there to comfort him. And Lithuania was too good to die, especially like this, in desperation and despair, taking his own life.

"Let me in!" he shouted, pounding on the door, his large fists seeming to do nothing against the sturdy wood. "Let me in, Toris! That is an order! I am ordering you, so you will be letting me in!"

_"Please, not him too… Please, I can't… I need him, I need him with me… I don't want to be alone! I don't want him to die! He… He is my friend… My only friend now, perhaps my only friend ever… I need to save him… Please…"_

* * *

Hearing Russia's words, Lithuania felt a slight tinge of regret, but it instantly faded away. For although he knew that Russia believed he needed him, it was simply not true. He was useless to Russia, useless to them all, for now he had begun to hurt Russia, who had already been hurt far too much. He had failed to protect his brothers, Belarus, and China, and now, he was too tired and broken to even try to save Russia. He simply wished to go to sleep, to escape from this agony of mind and soul, this emptiness in his chest. He wanted to stop existing.

He laughed bitterly, Russia's 'orders' almost amusing, considering their dire situation.

"You always told me that I was very disobedient," he said. "Why would you expect me to obey you now, Russia? H-how can you expect me to let you…? You cannot save me, Russia. I cannot save anyone, so I must fall as well. _I am going to fall_. You cannot stop me."

He could hear Russia sobbing, and, again, he almost felt sorry for doing this. But then he remembered how much he had hurt Russia already, and he knew that he could only continue hurting the large man, who still retained much of his childish behaviors, and who did not need to be blamed for anything, even if all of this were indeed his fault.

"T-Toris… I don't want you to go away… I don't want to be all alone… Please don't die…"

"Ivan," Lithuania said softly, gently. "You're too late."

He could feel his life draining away as blood leaked from the cuts on his wrists, and he knew that he would die soon. He would finally be at peace, or so he hoped.

Lithuania suddenly became aware that there was silence outside the door. Russia had gone away, it seemed, and he sighed, relieved by the other man's departure.

"Not much longer now…" he whispered feebly, his eyes begin to close. "I can finally rest…"

Just as Lithuania's eyes closed, there was a tremendous crash, and he was suddenly fully awake again, so frightened was he by the noise, which, it appeared, had come from just outside the door.

"R-Russia!"

"I will not be letting you die!"

Russia's voice, just outside the door, was loud and firm, and Lithuania felt slightly frightened. He did not know what the Russian man was planning, but he knew that he did not want to be saved. He wanted to die, and Russia, it seemed, was now the person who interfered where he was not wanted, especially in order to save someone else.

_"How far I have fallen… Even Russia is…"_

"What are you doing?" he whimpered. "I told you to go away, Russia. L-let me die… Please…"

"_Nyet_!" Russia's anguish was evident in his voice, and as he spoke, there was another deafening crash.

"I will not be letting my Toris die! Never, never, never! You will not be dying! I will not allow it! You are being bad, Toris, very bad indeed! If you do not want to live, fine! I will punish you by making you live, since you like punishment so much! If you want to be punished, then live! But I will not let you die! You are all I have… I will not let you leave me!"

"Not ever?" Lithuania said weakly, recognizing Russia's words to be a hysterical, desperate reference to a darker time, and not an actual threat of torture. "You'll make me stay with you forever, Ivan? T-that's not what friends do…"

"You are right," Russia said. "Friends do not keep each other prisoner. But, you see, Toris… You have taught me something that is very important. Friends… Friends save each other!"

There was a final crash, the door gave way, and Lithuania realized suddenly that Russia had taken his faucet pipe to the door, and was breaking it down.

"No, Russia…" he whispered, as a final, less violent strike finished off the broken door. "That wasn't what I meant… Sometimes you have to let go… Of your friends…"

"You would not be giving up on me, da?" Russia said, stepping over the fallen door to kneel at Lithuania's side. "And so I will never be giving up on you, my _Litva_."

"How _can_ you?" Lithuania sobbed, staring up at Russia. "How can you do this to me? I _want_ to die! I want to stop breathing and living and bleeding for everyone else! I don't want to do that anymore! I c-can't do that anymore, Russia. And if I cannot save people… Then I am nothing. I'm worthless now, so please… Please kill me, or leave me to die. Please. If you are my friend, if you love me, please…"

Russia had turned away, rummaging through the cupboards in search of bandages, which he finally located. The tall man was trying to wrap the bandages round Lithuania's wrists, and the boy struggled, not wanting to accept the painful knowledge that he was being forced to live on.

"I don't want to live, Ivan!" he shrieked. "Let go of me! Leave me alone! Just let me _die_!"

Russia pushed him back against the cabinet, holding him still. The bandages were nearly wound tight around both Lithuania's wrists, and, in desperation, he played one last, terrible card, one that he had never thought he would be driven to play.

"You did this to me!" he sobbed, hysterical and no longer caring if what he said hurt Russia. "It's your fault, you monster! Let me die! Finish what you started, goddamn you! Russia, just kill me! It's all your fault… _Kill me_!"

The bandages were tied tightly. He would not die today. Russia still knelt in front of him, and there were tears in his eyes, agony evident on his face.

"I know what I did, _Litva_," he said, sobbing. The Russian man suddenly seemed like a child once again, and as Lithuania watched, Russia seemed to cave in completely, pulling Lithuania into his arms and holding the boy tightly as they both cried, broken and agonized.

"I know what I did, Toris. And that is why I must fix you. I am atoning for my mistakes."

* * *

Estonia woke alone, to find himself lying on the floor of Panem's room. For a moment, he did not remember what had happened to him. He knew only that his head hurt terribly, and that Panem had left him alone when she had said she would not.

Slowly, it came back to him. The memories of the past night returned, and Estonia curled up into a tight, trembling ball, unable to banish Panem's words from his mind.

_"Maybe Toris did hate me… I a-am worthless to him, I know it… But I thought he would never hate me… He's so kind and selfless… And I'm so selfish and completely worthless, useless… He probably did hate me… M-maybe he lied and said he loved me because he was afraid of me… Maybe…"_

Estonia began to sob quietly. He was frightened and alone, and he could not forget what Panem had told him. More twisted words to torment his mind, more terrible things that he could never forget.

"Even if he hated me, I want him back," he sobbed, his voice broken and hoarse. "I want my big brother back. I want to go h-home… I would go back to Russia, even… A-anywhere but here… Anywhere that I can just see Toris… I n-need someone to protect me… Why? Why does everyone l-leave me alone?"

He knew, deep inside, that they had left him alone because they despised him. But still he questioned his own loneliness, his worthlessness, and he wished that he was a person that someone could love. Even if it were a psychopath who directed their affections at him, he might well accept it. Anyone, anything, besides this loneliness and agony of soul. Anything besides these voices in his head. Anywhere, as long as he would be loved by someone, and be tortured no longer.

He thought of Latvia, and wondered where the child was now, or if his brother was even alive. Perhaps Latvia was dead, and that would be a mercy to the boy. Estonia wished for death at that moment, unaware that, somewhere in the city, Lithuania, too, was wishing that he could die, and escape the agony of mind and soul which only nations could possess.

There was sunlight coming in through Panem's window. It was dawn, and although the sun's coming up should have filled Estonia with hope, he felt only despair. Another day of torment was beginning.

"I want to die," he whispered. "Someone kill me."

"Oh, but you're so much fun, Eduard," said the voice of a demon. "I'd hate to kill you, especially after your little display last night. It was awfully amusing…"

"No…" Estonia whimpered, panicked by the knowledge that Panem had returned to torture him. "Please, don't hurt me anymore."

Panem made no reply, instead walking over to kneel by his side.

"I wasn't planning to hurt you," she said, smiling softly.

"W-what?" Estonia asked, staring at her. She smiled wider, and, it seemed, she was telling the truth.

"I suppose you're a little bit tired of torture," Panem said. Her voice was soft, and there was something almost seductive in her tone. Estonia was confused, but even through his insanity and confusion, he realized that Panem was planning something. Still, she had given him an opportunity to get out of being tortured, even if it were just for a few hours, and he held on desperately to the hope of avoiding that physical agony.

"Y-yes," he whispered. "I… You're not going to torture me?"

"No," Panem said. "I'm not. I think you've had enough pain for a while, Eduard. Wouldn't you… Wouldn't you like some love, instead?"

A thousand terrible things flashed through Estonia's mind, but, somehow, he could not see Panem doing any of those things, not with him. Perhaps-and this was a horrifying thought-she might wish to do such things with Latvia… But not with him. She loathed him, he despised her, and they were both aware of this mutual hatred.

"What are you going to do to me?" he said, his voice quiet. He almost wanted to flee, but whatever she was going to do, it could not be as bad as torture. Even if she made him sleep with her, it could not possibly be as bad as torture. Could it? He was not sure. He had never even kissed someone before. He had never had the chance. No one stayed around long enough for him to kiss them. And the one person who had stayed, a certain child… Estonia's feelings about Latvia were so completely confused that he did not know if he wanted to kiss the boy, or if he merely wanted to hold Latvia close and never let him go.

"Sit up, and I'll show you," Panem said, and her smile had only a small trace of malice in it. And Estonia made the mistake of trusting her for one instant, not thinking about the psychological torture that was just as terrible as the physical pain. He sat up, stared into her green eyes, waiting.

"That's good," Panem said. She sounded almost happy, in that instant, and Estonia could only watch her, praying that whatever she was going to do would not be too horrible. "That's very good. Now, Eduard…"

She leaned toward him quickly, and before he could shy away, she was kissing him. She was, Estonia thought, rather good at kissing. And for a brief instant, he forgot everything. He forgot that he had never been kissed before, and he forgot that his first kiss was being stolen by the psychopath who had already stolen his eldest brother's life, his own sanity, and, quite probably, his youngest brother's sanity, innocence, and ultimately, the lives of every nation who still remained alive.

He forgot all of these things, and for an instant, he was living his own fantasy. Estonia had always dreamed of being loved, of being needed, of having someone who would do this to him. He had longed for someone who would kiss him and embrace him, had dreamed of it for many long years, centuries, ever since the day he had first realized that he loved Finland, but that Finland would not love him back in the same way.

For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, forgetting that it was Panem kissing him, and he felt utterly happy. He felt her soft lips touching his own, and he almost felt as if he might be able to find contentment, somewhere inside of him.

Then it all came back, in a flash of agony and anger, and he shoved Panem away, uttering a low, pained cry that came not from physical pain, but from the knowledge that his first kiss had been stolen by the girl he despised above all else.

"No!" he shouted, tears running down his face. "Stop! I won't do that with you, not ever again! I don't want to kiss you! Go away! Stop toying with me, you monster! You… You hate me! Why would you even _think_ about doing that to me? You're sick! Leave me alone!"

* * *

******Panem smirked. She had counted the seconds before Estonia had pulled away, and she suspected that they had both been living a similar fantasy, one in which they were kissing the person whom they both loved, but whom she at least would never have.

"My, my, Estonia," she said. "That was awfully violent for someone who spent a minute and a half kissing me before he pulled away. Didn't you enjoy it?"

"No!" Estonia shrieked. "I hated it, and I hate you, so don't ever do that to me again, you sick monster!"

Panem giggled. Estonia really was rather amusing in this state. She pressed on, knowing that her guards were right outside the door, ready to save her if Estonia were to become physically violent.

"You say you hated that kiss," she said. "But would you have hated it if it were… Hmm… Say Ukraine was the one kissing you? Would you have liked it then? Would you have enjoyed that kiss had you shared it with that chubby little crybaby, instead of me?"

Estonia said nothing, merely glared at her. But the anguish in his eyes told Panem what she needed to know.

_"He wishes Ukraine would have kissed him like that. He's so desperate to be loved by someone-he would have settled for that foolish little crybaby girl! How pathetic of him."_

"So… Not Ukraine?" Panem asked, lying outright. She knew that Estonia had dreamed of it, if only for a brief moment. "Then are you _that way_, Estonia? You don't seem like the sort of guy who would be bisexual… It's even less likely that you're gay, but… Perhaps you would be happy if it was Finland kissing you, instead? Tell me, Estonia. Did you have those kinds of feelings for your best friend? I wonder if he ever knew. He probably wouldn't have known what to think, having you _and _Sweden both after him. But of course he would have chosen Sweden, even if he had known you loved him. Sweden was awfully scary… He could take care of Finland. You could never protect yourself, let alone your best friend… So, Estonia? Would you have been happy if you were kissing Finland? Would you have been happy, if you had been able to kiss your best friend?"

* * *

Estonia tried to bite back his anger, desperately fighting the urge to snap at Panem. What she said was true, to some extent, but he still hated to hear those words from her. She made it sound as if he had been wrong to love Ukraine, to love Finland. He had never even gotten the chance to kiss them, let alone to make love to them. There was nothing wrong with having a crush, nothing wrong with loving someone, as long as you did not try to force them to love you, as Russia had done to Lithuania by imprisoning the eldest Baltic for so long.

He was not wrong, but it angered him to hear his inner dreams spoken of and mocked by Panem. It made it sound as if he would have forced Finland or Ukraine to kiss him, to make love with him, when that thought had never even crossed his mind.

All he had wanted from either of them was the assurance that they would not leave him alone.

He sat still on the floor, his fists clenched, his body beginning to tremble as he struggled to suppress his rage.

And still Panem continued on, her words twisting and turning in Estonia's mind, warping his perception of the love he had felt for his family and friends, making him seem like some kind of sick monster, a monster that he had never before considered himself to be.

"Is it Lithuania, then? I know how much you admire him, but… Was there more, Eduard? Was it more than admiration that made you try so hard to please him? Were you in love with your own big brother? Oh, how funny that would be! He would never have returned your affections, you know. He had eyes only for Belarus. Eduard, don't you know that Lithuania only protected you because you were a Baltic nation too, and he wanted to be your savior? He did it because he wanted to protect Latvia, and he had to protect the other Baltic too, just to be fair. And perhaps because he can't bear to see anyone hurt. But he would never have loved you in that way, you worthless, pathetic child! He would have been scandalized to learn that you wanted him…"

_"No… No, I don't think of Toris in that way! I have never thought of him in that way! He is my brother, he is my hero… He was, that is… You took him! You took him away, and you dare to stand there and imply that I had some kind of lustful feelings for my older brother? I didn't feel that way about him!"_

Lithuania, was, in fact, the only person Panem had listed so far that Estonia had never even dreamed of kissing. He did not feel that way about the older boy, and he had never felt that way. Lithuania was his hero, his idol, his brother. He was not Estonia's lover, nor someone that Estonia wished would be his lover, and, as Lithuania was dead now, that would never be the case.

Estonia waited, steeling himself for whatever might come next. But Panem's next words chilled him to the bone, for she had finally, terribly, hit the mark.

"Or is it Latvia? Maybe you don't want your older brother, Eduard… Maybe you knew that Toris was always out of your league. But do you want Raivis? That would be even more scandalous! I mean, I can see why you would want him… But he's such a little thing… Don't you feel guilty at all? Don't you feel a bit dirty, envisioning kissing that little boy?"

And Estonia found himself hating both himself and Panem. For he had, in fact, fantasized for an instant that the soft lips touching his own belonged to his little brother, to whom he was actually not related at all. They were family, yes, but they were not blood brothers. And the way Panem talked made Estonia seem like a monster, like a pervert, like someone who longed to sleep with his own kin, and that was not what he wanted. He wanted Latvia with him, and, yes, he did fantasize about sharing a kiss with the boy, if only just once. But he did not want the little boy in the way that Panem implied he did. He had never really wanted anyone in that way. He merely wanted someone to love him… He did not want anyone to sleep with him, and especially not Latvia.

The mere thought of what Panem was implying filled him with rage, and he lunged at her, knocking her flat on her back. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, and he realized that she was afraid of him. He gripped her shoulders, straddling her thin body, his entire being consumed by his hatred for her and for what she had done to his family and his own life.

"I do not think of him that way!" he screamed. "I will never think of him that way! Nor did I think of Toris in such a way! I am not like you! I am not a sick monster like you! I may be insane, but I am not sick in the head, not in the way you are, you psychopathic pervert! You… I hate you! I hate you! Die, now, and never, ever, imply that I think of my brothers in that way again!"******

His entire body was trembling with rage and fear, for he knew, somewhere deep inside, that what he was about to do might well seal his fate, that he would likely be killed for what he was about to do.

But he did not care. Panem would pay for this, for what she had said and done to him, and to his family.

He wrapped his hands around Panem's throat, and watched as her eyes widened. She struggled; he could see the fear in her eyes when she found that she could not escape him. In his maddened rage, Estonia was strong enough to keep his hold on Panem. He savored the look on her face as she found that she could not speak loudly enough to cry for help.

"…'stonia… Stop!"

She was sobbing, choked, broken sobs, and he realized that she, too, was afraid of suffering, of pain, and of dying, but still he did not release his hold. Panem was gasping, her struggles growing feebler.

And then, suddenly, Panem stopped struggling. She was near passing out, Estonia realized, and as she stopped struggling, he could see that she was trying to speak.

"Ed…uard… 'm scared…"

Panem shuddered violently, and, then, she went limp. And Estonia realized that he had killed her. He knew, of course, that she was immortal, and that she would come back. But he also knew that he had murdered a sixteen year old girl, and yet, felt no remorse. She would do the same to him, one day.

He climbed off of her, smiling widely. When he spoke, his voice was high, shaky, and yet, triumphant.

"Am I so pitiful now, Panem?" he asked, smiling at the girl's lifeless body. "Tell me! Am I so weak now! I… I beat you! I killed you!"

He threw back his head, laughing wildly. He knew that she would return, and that she would punish him. But before she did that, he would savor his victory. He had, for the moment, beaten Panem.

He did not think of escape. It was simply not possible. But he was happy, for a moment. And when his happiness began to fade, when he realized that he had not punished Panem enough, Estonia searched the girl's pockets until he found a knife.

He spent the rest of the morning painting Panem's room red with her own blood. When the guards finally found him, it was only because he was laughing so insanely that it had frightened even those hardened soldiers. No one had come, for no one had heard Panem scream for help. She had not had the chance to scream.

And for once, Estonia had not been subjected to agonizing torture. For once, as he surveyed the damage he had done, he was happy.

Then the guards dragged him away, and he realized that he was probably going to die.

* * *

Morning had come and gone, and still Latvia was alone. The boy stood looking out the window at the only bit of the free world that he could glimpse from his prison. Panem had left him as dawn had broken, her only parting words a promise that she would visit again soon. They both knew that when she did come back, it would not be the same. He had been cold to her this morning, remembering now not the pain she had suppressed in her childhood, but her cruelty toward Estonia and Lithuania. He now remembered that Panem had murdered his brothers, and he had pushed her away.

She had left him, and he did not know when she would return again. He only knew that he would be locked in here until she decided to let him out. She had forbade him to leave to feed the other prisoners, saying that he would resume his regular schedule the next day. She had also assured him that she would not allow any of the others to die of hunger and thirst in his absence. Not that anyone but China was really at risk in that area, she had said, and Latvia had realized that the extra glass of water that appeared every couple of days must belong to China, must be the only sustenance that the Asian nation got.

He wondered if he was being selfish, slipping into insanity when his own suffering was so much less than the others'. He was not suffering much; he had plenty of food, water, clothes, and a comfortable bed.

The other prisoners, however, had none of those things. Guiltily, Latvia thought of Iceland, imprisoned in the dark, chained, unable to move.

His own suffering was minute compared to theirs, and yet…

And yet he was losing his mind, even now. He had, he thought, truly lost his grip on sanity when Estonia had been taken from him.

As he stood at the window, staring out, he heard the door open. He did not turn to look, expecting Panem's slim fingers to touch his hair in a few moments. He steeled himself for her touch, but it never came. Instead, there was silence. There was utter silence, and Latvia turned to the door, to see a pale, blood-covered boy standing there, watching him with a rather detached air.

"E-Eduard!" Latvia shrieked, certain that he was seeing a ghost. He felt himself beginning to shake, and still Estonia did not speak.

But when Estonia finally did speak, Latvia realized that this was the living, breathing Estonia. For this was not sane Estonia's voice, but the voice of a madman who had once held Latvia at gunpoint. And Latvia knew that Estonia could not be tormented by insanity if he were dead.

"Hello, Raivis!" Estonia said, sounding almost cheerful. "I'm back!"

Latvia stared at his brother, seeing in Estonia's eyes the madness that told him clearly that Panem had truly destroyed his older brother. It was over now. Estonia was well and truly insane, and, this time, Latvia knew that not even he could save Estonia.

"Eddy…" he whispered. Tears filled his eyes, and he was unable to stop them from spilling onto his cheeks.

_"I was going to save him, I was going to keep this from happening but I let them take him and now he'll never be sane again and… I failed. I was supposed to take care of him so he wouldn't go insane! I promised myself I would, and…"_

"Why are you crying, Raivis?" Estonia asked.

"I… E-Eddy…"

"I killed Panem," Estonia announced, and Latvia could only stare at him.

"You… You didn't."

It was all he could think to say, but it was the wrong thing, and he knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Even before Estonia's eyes narrowed, he knew. He knew that he had said the wrong thing, and he knew that Estonia would try to kill him.

"Ed," he whispered, backing away, "Don't hurt me. Please."

"Why do you care whether or not she dies?" Estonia asked. His voice was low and sinister, and Latvia was frightened of him. If Panem's soldiers had not saved her, then they most certainly would not save him, and if he was not saved…

Estonia might well kill him for good.

Latvia did not reply to Estonia's words, instead backing away further, only to find himself pressed up against the bars on the window. Estonia stepped toward him, his voice still menacing.

"Raivis…" Estonia murmured. "Tell me why it might worry you that Panem is dead."

"If she's dead, and y-you killed her, then when she w-wakes up, she'll probably k-kill you!" Latvia squeaked. His voice had risen in pitch and volume, and he was trembling terribly now.

"I don't care about that," Estonia said. "And you… You don't either. Don't lie to me, Raivis."

Latvia felt a cold dread creeping into him, and he realized that Estonia was well and truly mad this time, perhaps no longer even capable of any rational thought.

"What do you think, Eddy?" he whispered. "Why do you think I'm lying to you?"

"Because you are!" Estonia roared, and Latvia cowered away in fear, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. He felt as if he were nothing more than a fragile object, perhaps made of glass, and he knew that Estonia was like the child who thoughtlessly threw fragile glass objects across the room, only to watch in horror as the fragile things shattered.

Estonia had become like Russia.

"W-what am I l-lying about?" Latvia asked, his voice very, very quiet. "T-tell me, Eddy."

* * *

Estonia glared down at his little brother, marveling at how much the tiny boy shook. He saw the terror in Latvia's eyes, and knew that his brother was afraid of him.

But before he had seen terror, he had seen horror, and he had seen it when he had told Latvia that he had murdered Panem. Latvia had been horrified with him because he had murdered the psychopath who would one day kill them all.

Which meant that Latvia cared about Panem. And that made Estonia very, very angry. Latvia had no reason to care for Panem, or to be horrified that she had been murdered. The psychopathic girl would live again soon enough, and it was not as if she would go through any great agony while she was asleep. It was nothing worse than the agony that she had put them all through, imprisoning and torturing them as she had.

And yet Latvia had been horrified to learn that she was dead. Almost as if she was important to him, more important than Estonia was, although he had risked his very life to protect Latvia. Although he had sacrificed himself for the little boy.

"Do you care about her, Raivis?" he hissed, glaring at the small boy, who shivered and cowered away, looking absolutely terrified.

"Do you care about her?" Estonia snapped. There was no answer, and Latvia sank down onto the floor, his hands clutching at his curly hair. To Estonia's broken mind, it appeared that Latvia had his hands over his ears, and, bending down, he grabbed the tiny Latvian by his hair, pulling him up.

Latvia sobbed, begging, but for what, Estonia could not tell.

"Tell me if you care about her!" he roared. He hurled Latvia to the floor, and the tiny boy shrieked in fear and pain.

"Tell me, Raivis!"

He kicked Latvia, and, suddenly, his rage had grown to an uncontrollable immensity. He no longer cared whether or not Latvia loved him or Panem more. He would punish the child anyways. All of this was Latvia's fault. If the foolish child had not been so clumsy and stupid, then he would never have been tortured in the first place.

When this had started, years ago, he had stepped up to save the idiot Latvian and been tortured. That beating had started it all.

It was Latvia's fault. Estonia still longed for the answer to his question, but he also wanted to make Latvia suffer. And so, suffering would be Latvia's fate.

The guards had taken Panem's knife from him, but he kicked Latvia again, harder, only to wince and cry out in pain as his barely healed foot collided with Latvia's ribs.

"E-Eddy…" Latvia sobbed, sounding like the child that he ought to be, in a world where fate was not so cruel. "P-please… Ed…dy… You'll hurt yourself…"

"Then, tell me, Raivis," Estonia said, crouching beside the fallen child. "Do you care for Panem?"

Latvia was struggling to speak, wheezing, every effort to speak coming out as stuttered nonsense. Finally, the boy closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, he was able to speak without stammering, at least for a moment.

"I do care for Panem," he said. "But not like that. It's n-not like that. I h-hate Panem the nation, but… I don't hate the girl named Panem. We hurt her, E-Eddy… We all hurt her… It's… We killed her slowly, too."

Latvia smiled, and Estonia recognized this smile as the same tragic, tormented expression that had been on Latvia's face as he had destroyed the prison kitchen, hoping to force Panem to end his torment.

"I do care for Panem," he repeated. "But more than that… I pity her. I remember when she was little and cute and she seemed so happy… But she wasn't happy, Eddy. She had demons hiding inside her head, l-like you do… I p-pity her because… I see her, and… It reminds me of you!"

With Latvia's words, Estonia felt cold clarity wash over him, and, suddenly, he could think again. He could think, he could breathe, he saw his tormented little brother in front of him and knew that he had made it all worse for Latvia, yet again.

"L-Lati…" he whispered. His hands, no longer clenched into angry fists, slid under Latvia's arms, lifting the boy to a sitting position.

"I'm sorry, Raivis," he whispered, burying his face in Latvia's hair. "I'm sorry for being like Panem. I'm so sorry… I can't… I can't stop it anymore… The demons are back in my head… It's…all over…"

* * *

Canada had no way of knowing how to take care of France, and this was beginning to become painfully obvious. France had probably noticed too, although he had said nothing. And France's silence was proof of how much things had changed.

France had always taken care of Canada. Had noticed him, encouraged him, made him feel wanted.

And now, suddenly, France simply could not cope with that anymore. Which made Canada wonder…

_"How long has he been breaking like this? H-how long has it been that he's been hurting? He… He's not like the others say, then. He really isn't that bad. I knew that, of course, all along… But he also never tried to flirt with me, really. I was like his child, so he didn't want to flirt with me, or so I assumed. The others always sort of disliked him because he flirted with them and annoyed them… But was he hurting inside all along? Was he acting that way to disguise his pain, so that he wouldn't worry anyone? I d-don't know… Oh, Francis…"_

Canada glanced at the older man, who, due to the rather early hour, was still asleep, unconscious on the sofa. Canada was grateful for this, for France would likely be extremely depressed when he did awake. There would be no more alcohol consumption for France, and that was not something that the older man was taking well to.

Canada's brow furrowed. He had suddenly noticed a very, very important detail. France had been getting the alcohol from somewhere. No, someone had been bringing it to him… It had to be so, for France had not left the cabin at any time, not for the time it would take to drive to the city and procure alcohol.

And therefore…

"Matthew?"

Canada wondered vaguely why it was that people always popped up right when you were thinking about them. Mr. Nichols was certainly developing a knack for doing so.

"Mr. Nichols!" he said, jumping up and turning toward the doorway. The former government official stood there, his arms loaded down with shopping bags. Considering the fact that he had once been a rather important person, it would have been a comical sight under some circumstances. At the moment, however, Canada was more than a little annoyed with Nichols, and, therefore, he paid no attention to Nichols's comical appearance, instead marching over to the American man in what he hoped was at least a partially intimidating manner.

"How are you getting along?" Nichols asked. He had made a point to come every few days, usually bearing food, and thus, Canada was more than a bit suspicious of Nichols's shopping bags.

"Is there alcohol in those bags?" he asked, very quietly. Nichols paled slightly, and he knew he had hit the mark.

"Francis told me not to tell you," Nichols said, and Canada suddenly felt rather angry with the man, who clearly had no idea how to deal with nations, whether or not they were technically still nations or not.

"Mr. Nichols!" he said again, this time more vehemently. "You cannot just give alcohol to a nation! A l-lot of us-Francis included-have been addicted to the stuff at one time or another. You can't just give it to him! H-he's addicted again, and I had to throw all the alcohol we had out. You can't bring it to him anymore! You c-can't… He doesn't need that, and I… I don't want him to drink, Mr. Nichols. He's not stable as it is."

"But isn't he your father?" Nichols asked, clearly slightly confused. "Shouldn't he be able to choose whether or not he…?"

"He is not well!" Canada squeaked, his voice rising as his outraged feelings grew. "Mr. Nichols, he watched Alfred ride to his death! He was supposed to take care of me _and_ Alfred, but Alfred ran off and is probably d-dead! A-and he left Arthur too, and even if they acted like they couldn't stand each other, Francis cared about Arthur. He blames himself for that, and he does not need to be drinking!"

He paused, his voice softening, tears rising unbidden in his eyes.

"I want my Papa back, Mr. Nichols," he said quietly. "Francis never drank excessively when I was a child. He had a glass of wine now and then, but never… Never like this. I j-just want my Papa back…"

There were tears falling from his eyes, and he made no effort to wipe them away. He wanted to seem like a child, in that moment, so that Nichols would realize that he needed France sober, if not sane.

"All right, Matthew," Nichols said softly. "I'll take whatever alcohol I have here back with me, all right? I won't buy any more, if that's what you want."

"T-that is what I want," Canada managed to choke out. "That's all I want."

_"No, it's not. Mr. Nichols, you're an adult, you're… You're supposed to tell me how to help France! I don't know how to help him, I just know that I want the sane France back. I want my Papa, not this sad Francis that's been hiding inside for who knows how long… I just want my Papa back… And I want Alfred and Arthur and… And Kuma-what's-his-name… And everyone. I just want everyone back."_

Nichols had turned away, and was going into the kitchen. As the American man turned away, Canada let out a strangled sob.

_"I want my world back."_

* * *

**So. Long, long, chapter. This was actually one of my favorite chapters to write, so I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Anyone who skipped the asterisked scene: Panem proceeded to confront Estonia on his feelings for Ukraine, Finland, Lithuania, and Latvia, doing so in a way that made him seem as if he had perverted feelings for them (Latvia in particular). As you know, when the asterisked part ended, Estonia attacked and killed Panem, enraged by the fact that she would dare to first kiss him and then imply that he had twisted feelings for the people he loves the most. **

**Another note on Estonia: Yes, I am fairly certain that it is possible to want to have a romantic relationship with someone, and still not want to sleep with that person. I'm speaking from my own experience here, and I haven't done a ton of research (I did some, though), but I am fairly certain that it is possible. (Heck, this is how I feel, so if I'm the only one in the world, so be it.)**

**Also, this is the twentieth chapter of this fic! It currently has 96 reviews, so thank you all for your amazing support so far! I really appreciate it!**

**Next time will be the status update, so please let me know if you would like to read that in two updates, or all together. (Also, I swear I will have the timeline done by next week. I promise!)**

**Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed!**


	21. In This Shadow

**Well, I actually got to update this week! (I wasn't sure I would...)**

**OK, so, I have a confession. I forgot the existence of the Italies. (I'm sorry!) I've added scenes with them into the status update, and, yes, due to that, the status update is coming in two parts, this chapter being the first part.**

**I'm...not completely certain how to write a status update. So if this fails at updating on the situation, that is why. Basically, I'm going to do a POV for each of the characters who has appeared multiple times so far. And, yes, various nations who have not been focus characters will appear. I am, however, leaving a few surviving nations unspoken of, as I want some sort of surprise factor for later on.**

**Speaking of the nations who haven't been focused on much so far-I'm not giving each of them their own separate POV, as that would take far too long. But each group of surviving nations who have not been extensively focused on will have one scene from the POV of one of their respective groups' members.**

**... I hope that made sense? Anyways, without further commentary on my part, on with the chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: In This Shadow

Iceland wanted only to see his family again. Even a visit from Latvia or Estonia would suffice. Anything but this dark existence. Anything but this dark, stinking cell. Iceland had once longed for his family to leave him be, wished that they would allow him a moment of peace. Now, he heard the echoes of their laughter in his mind and longed for them to come back, even if it would mean that he would be annoyed with them again. The annoyance would be worth it, if only they were all alive once more…

He longed to be able to speak the words 'big brother' to the man who had so longed for him to say such a phrase. Had Norway walked into his cell at this moment, Iceland would have cried out those two words without hesitation. He had always loathed Norway's insistence that he call him 'big brother', but if it had meant that his brother would be there, alive and well, he would gladly have spoken the words.

He wanted Norway back. He wanted his brother, and he wanted the other Nordics. He wanted them to save him from this nightmare, this imprisonment, this hell. He knew that he could not save himself, no matter how hard he tried, and so he longed for his family to come and save him. He knew that they were dead, and that they would never be there to save him or protect him again. But still he dreamed of them, and sometimes cried out aloud for them to rescue him from this place.

He would have been content with the presence of Latvia or Estonia, for they offered a short relief from his loneliness and pain. But they did not come often enough, did not provide a certain respite from the agony of his existence here.

He would have been satisfied with anything that provided a respite from Panem and her sadistic soldiers, from the torment that they always visited upon him.

Since he had been brought to this place, not a day had gone by that either Panem or one of her guards had not tortured and abused him. It was almost a relief to be tormented, for while he was being beaten, at least he was not alone. But when the pain was at an end, the cell door always slammed shut immediately, abandoning him to the dark loneliness of his cell.

He was still chained to the wall by both arms, and thus, could not move from his current position. He had now knelt nearly immobile on the floor for days, unable to stir from this position. He felt filthy, as he no doubt was, and there were sores forming on his body from kneeling in the same dirty place for so long. His wrists were rubbed raw from all the times he had struggled, trying desperately to escape in the second between torture and darkness, in that one second when he saw escape in front of him in the form of daylight and an open door.

Iceland wondered how long it would be before they killed him. He almost hoped that his death would come quickly. At least, when he died, he would escape from this tormented darkness, would flee from this lonely regret.

He might even see Norway and the others again, in death.

Having knelt immobile for so long, usually alone with the darkness, and sometimes visited with agony, Iceland had begun to give up hope. He had begun to believe that he would never escape, that he was doomed to die here, in this dark prison.

"N…Norway…" he whispered, his voice broken and hoarse, having only been used when he cried and screamed in agony. "I would call you big brother, now. If you were here, I would do that. A-and I would never act like… Like I thought you were stupid. Because I know, now, that even if you _were_ stupid sometimes… As long as you, Norway, big brother… Denmark… Sweden and Finland… As long as you were there with me… I wasn't scared or alone."

There was no way for him to disguise his tears, and, knowing this, Iceland could only sob harder, realizing that he was utterly forsaken, doomed to exist and die in this hellish prison.

"B-big brother… Come back. I… I'm scared."

* * *

Lithuania had failed from the start, and he knew it clearly now. He had known of his failure ever since he had realized that Estonia had fallen into insanity, but it had become a solid fact in his mind when he first saw Latvia half drunk, with a bottle of vodka in his hand, and realized that his youngest brother's innocence, too, was gone.

Estonia and Latvia had been destroyed because he had not been able to protect them.

Even Russia, he had not been able to save. He wanted to save Russia, and even when he had slit his wrists, intending to die, it had been with the purpose of saving Russia from further pain. He wanted to save Russia from the fact that he, Lithuania, was losing his mind, and would likely slip into the same dark abyss that Russia once had.

In a way, he sensed that Russia might become like him, once given the chance to try and save the boy who had once failed to save him. And Lithuania was not about to let Russia make that sacrifice, knowing the toll it had taken upon his own sanity.

He was breaking. No, he was already broken. He had been broken long ago, and he would never heal. The scars on his back still remained, but deeper than those scars were the terrible, still bleeding wounds on his heart, the wounds that would never heal, as long as he remembered his failure.

_"I failed them. I failed every single one of them. Not only did I let Russia destroy Estonia and Latvia, not only was I unable to save Russia himself... I let Panem take China and Belarus. I… I should have fought her. Maybe then she would have killed me, really killed me, instead of just leaving me there to die slowly. Why…? Why can't I just die…?"_

He became aware that he was lying on a sofa, that there was a blanket draped over him, and he knew that he was truly alive. This was no dream that came between despair and death. This was a continuation of his existence, and the first selfish tear trickled down his face as he realized that he was not dead.

"But I wanted to die…" he whispered, his voice ragged and sad. "I wanted to die. It hurts _so much_. Dying is all I want… Why couldn't you just let me die, Ivan?"

"Because I am selfish," said Russia's voice from somewhere close by. Lithuania could not see him, but he could hear Russia's voice, and knew that the tall man had been waiting for him to awaken.

"And because you are also very selfish,_ Litva_. You know that I would rather have you angry with me than have to see you die… Da? Da, you know this to be true. You know me well, Toris. You know what will hurt me… And still you were trying to kill yourself. _Why_, _Litva_? How… How could you do that to me?"

There was a deep, terrible agony in Russia's voice, and in spite of the man's obvious pain, Lithuania found it amusing, in a tragic, ironic way, to hear Russia sounding so desperate to save him.

"I remember when I tried to reason with you," he murmured sadly. "Over and over I tried. And it did no good. Russia, why do you still care about me? I… I believed that you only loved me because I was kind to you. But I am not like that any longer. Russia, why do you think you will be happy if I live? I can only bring you pain, now… I am not your kind, sane _Litva_ now. I am broken. I am not the Lithuania you once knew."

"Da, but you are," Russia said. Suddenly, he was standing next to the sofa, grasping Lithuania's hand. There was anguish written on Russia's every feature, and Lithuania wondered if this was how he had looked, in the days when he had tried to save Russia from insanity.

"You will always be my _Litva_," Russia said. "You… You are perhaps not sane… But you are still kind, Toris."

"I accused you of terrible things," Lithuania whispered, remembering what he had said to Russia, the horrible things that he had called the childish man, who had already been tormented far too much.

"Things which I truly am, that I truly did," Russia said. "I know now what I did. I did many bad things, things that hurt people forever. Your… Your scars are proof of what I did."

"Please, don't talk about it…" Lithuania begged. "I don't want to remember. I… It hurts. It still hurts."

It was almost involuntary, but he found himself rubbing the side of his head. Beneath his soft, wispy hair, there was a scar, and he could almost feel the freeing, almost wonderful sensation of the bullet going into his head, just before it had entered his brain. That day, he had committed his first partially successful suicide attempt, although he had only succeeded in suicide with Russia's assistance.

"Does it ever stop hurting?" Russia asked. He sounded worried, frightened, and Lithuania wished that Russia would go back to being insane, simply so that he would no longer care what happened to anyone but himself. Now, he sounded like a frightened child, and it was an added agony for Lithuania's already tortured mind.

"It may in death," Lithuania said, closing his eyes for an instant. "I… I might not be hurting anymore now, n-not physically, b-but… Mentally… I-Ivan, it still hurts… It w-won't stop…"

He began to sob, quietly at first, and then louder, until his frail body was shuddering with the force of his sobs.

"I j-just want to stop h-hurting…"

He did not see Russia move, but when the tall man embraced him, he did not pull away. Russia's embrace was strangely gentle, particularly so when Lithuania recalled the violence which Russia had inflicted on many nations, himself included.

"I know you do not want to hurt anymore, Toris," Russia said. "I… I also would like to stop with the hurting. But death… Death is not the way."

_"No, Ivan… Death is the only way."_

"And since death is not the way," Russia said, "I am going to save you, _Litva_. I will try to help you get better, so that you will not be hurting anymore."

_"No, you will not," _Lithuania thought. _"You will not become what I was, not in a futile attempt to save me. Oh, Ivan… It will never stop hurting. Never. Death is the only way that I can end my suffering."_

He knew that he would never stop hurting, not in life, and that knowledge made it so that he could barely breathe for sobbing. And still Russia held him close, stroking his hair, never thinking of abandoning him to his brokenness.

Their roles had been reversed. It was now Lithuania who hurt others without thinking, although he did so with words, and not with violent actions. It was Russia who took care of the broken, tortured person, his only goal to save the one he cared for so deeply.

Lithuania knew this, and the knowledge that he had fallen so far made his pain that much greater.

* * *

Russia became aware of the role reversal as Lithuania cried in his arms. He remembered, as if through a haze, that this was not how it used to be. This was not how it was supposed to be. Lithuania was not supposed to cry like this, was not supposed to be so broken.

And yet he had broken, and, it seemed, it had started long ago. And Russia still knew that it was his own fault that this had happened to Lithuania, and no one else's. He had done this, and so he must somehow fix his friend. He did not know how, and he was frightened by the knowledge that he might not be able to save Lithuania, despite his efforts.

_"But he helped me. He helped me so many times, and now he is so sad… I have to be saving him. Somehow…"_

Lithuania was still leaning against him, and the sheer fact that the boy trusted him enough to allow him to extend this gesture, even after all he had done, was proof of what Russia had told the brunet Baltic earlier.

_"He is still kind. Even if he breaks, even if he goes completely insane like I was… He will never be anything but kind. There is no evil in my Toris… But he does not see that… And so he is broken."_

He, too, was breaking, but at the same time, he hoped that he could hold on, as long as he had Lithuania. And if keeping Lithuania with him involved becoming the boy's caretaker, then he would do so. He would gladly take care of Lithuania, if it only meant that he could stay sane, that Lithuania could stay alive.

"I will take care of you, little Toris," he murmured, and Lithuania sobbed harder, as if he, too, had recognized the reversal in the roles of broken child and desperate protector.

And although he had said that he would, Russia had no idea how to protect and save his _Litva_. He knew that there must be a way-there had to be! If there was no way, then Lithuania would die… And he himself would once again be alone, and where there was loneliness, insanity would doubtless follow.

He tried to think of a way that he could save his friend, but no plan came to mind. He knew only that he must not leave Lithuania alone, must not let the boy end his life.

"You do not have to fight alone anymore," he said. "I will stay with you, my _Litva_."

And then he too began to cry. His tears were those of utter grief and pain, and of the realization that he did not know how to save himself or the person he loved more than anyone else. He did not particularly care for the preservation of his own life, for he realized now that he deserved to die for the terrible things he had done. He would have thought anyone who sought to kill him justified in that wish.

Had Estonia now come to him with a loaded gun, he would have stood calmly, and let the Baltic boy pull the trigger as many times as he wished, until his blood, and his alone, stained the floors and walls.

"Ivan… Don't…"

He could not stop crying, and he knew that this fact only proved what he already knew-he could not become like Lithuania in order to save the boy. He was not strong like Lithuania had been, and neither of them would ever be that strong again, no matter how hard they tried.

"I h-have to cry," he sobbed. "Crying is… It is sadness and… It is better than dying, Toris. Crying is much better of a way to d-deal with sadness… I-isn't it?"

He did not know the answers to his own questions. He only knew that he was sad, broken, and he knew that Lithuania was far more broken than he was, far more broken than he could ever be.

And he was afraid for both of them. He did not know what to do, and so he could only hold Lithuania close, and cry.

* * *

Panem came awake sobbing, certain that she was dead. She was lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed, and there were bright lights shining down on her. The girl whimpered, and curled up in a tight ball, almost surprised to find that there was not a single IV attached to her.

"Good," said a voice, which she recognized to be that of one of her government officials. "You're awake."

"It hurts," she whispered.

"What hurts?" A doctor's voice this time, the voice of the only medical practitioner in her world who knew of the existence of the immortal nation of Panem. Alan, she thought his name was, although she had never bothered to pay much attention to him before. He was_ her_ doctor, but he could not fix her insanity, and even if he could have, her government would likely not have wanted him to. They seemed to _want_ her insane, seemed to like her that way. She wished that _they_ were sane, because she was absolutely terrified, and she wanted someone to comfort her.

Sane people, like Latvia, were good at comforting broken creatures like her.

"What happened to me?" she murmured, but she knew even before the doctor who might have been called Alan spoke.

"You were attacked by a prisoner," he said, and she remembered the blinding terror that she had felt as she had been strangled by Estonia, who, it seemed, she had gravely underestimated.

"I know," she said. "I'm scared. It hurts."

"You are not hurt anymore," the doctor said, and she moaned quietly, shaking her head.

"Leave me alone," she whispered. "Please."

He hesitated, but then he left her, and whoever else was in the room left too. Humans did not disobey her wishes, unless they were in the government. And although they, too, sometimes obeyed her, the government officials were the only humans she feared. If she disobeyed them, they had threatened, she would be locked in a cage and tormented in the same way that she was torturing her own kind. They had not said it in those words, for they did not know that the only prisoners yet alive, the only remaining 'dangerous rebels', were all former nations. She had kept that information secret, and because they let her torture prisoners as she pleased, she eagerly turned a blind eye to their plans for her, and for her people. She did not trust her government at times, but then, what nation did?

"I died," she whispered. "They let me die. I… It hurts so much…"

She was not experiencing physical pain, but a terrible, acute mental agony. The things she had relived while asleep had been dreadful, painful, terrible. Few people had died by suffocation since the founding of Panem, not enough to fill her dead hours, and so she had also relived other methods of death in the hours that she had been comatose. It had been frightening, and among the deaths she had relived had been those of certain nations who were already dead, chiefly those who had been buried beneath the rubble of the world conference.

She had felt their despair, their agony, and although she was not sorry for what she had done, she had not realized that she would relive such things whenever she were to die. No one had told her this. It was terrifying, horrible, and she was afraid.

"I don't want to die again," she sobbed, keeping her voice quiet, so that no one could hear her. "I'm scared… E-Eduard, how could you do that to me?"

She knew why he had done it, knew she had driven him to it, but still she did not quite understand that Estonia's cruelty did not even begin to rival her own. She did not know that he had done what he had to her out of anger, desperation, and fear, whereas her own actions were only out of anger.

She began to sob quietly, not understanding why it had been her fate to be hated, to be hurt despite all she had done to shield herself from harm.

And in the midst of her tears, an idea for revenge was forming. Estonia was still alive-of that she was sure. They would not have killed him without her permission.

"He'll wish he hadn't done that," she whispered, her voice childish, tears rolling down her face. "I'll make him pay… And Alfred too. I'll make them both pay, and I'll do it all at once. After all… There's nothing better than seeing the people I hate the most suffer."

* * *

America felt as if he had been locked away forever. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled because he was fully happy, couldn't remember the last time he had laughed joyfully.

He could not remember the last time he had held someone in his arms without crying. Now, he did not hold people in his arms, he realized. They held him. England held him, and that was simply not fair to the British man, who had already suffered so much.

"I don't want you to protect me," he said aloud, and suddenly, England was there, grasping his hands and looking into his eyes.

"I can't protect you, Alfred! That's the goddamn bloody point of all this-I can't save you or anyone else!"

There were tears in England's eyes, and seeing that despair in the man who was his hero, America felt guilty, knowing that it was his fault that England was here, hurting… He knew that it was his fault that England was now permanently handicapped, half the fingers on one hand gone forever, irreplaceable.

"I don't want you to get hurt for me," he choked out, and England sighed quietly.

"And she knows that," he said, and America knew that he was speaking of Panem, of the little sister who had betrayed them both, and doomed them to this horrible despair.

"She knows you would rather die than see anyone else hurt, Alfred," England said quietly. "She knows your fears, and she… She will exploit them, Alfie. I… I'm afraid that…"

"Belarus wasn't the last," America whispered. "I know. Panem is going to make this complete agony for me, and hell for you and for everyone else. I… I should never have tried to stop her… I should have known it wouldn't work…"

"What you did was very brave, America," England said, a sad, reconciled understanding in his dulling eyes, which were no longer shining like the emeralds they had resembled when America was a child.

"It was poorly thought through, perhaps, but it was brave, nonetheless. None of the rest of us could have done that, Alfie… Because we…"

"You're not idiots," America choked. "You would have known that it would never work."

"Yes," England murmured, looking away from him. "But because of our fears, we would never have tried. Alfred, we… We might all die for this. We probably will die, but let me make this clear to you: What happened to Panem-what she has become-that is not your fault."

"How?" America said, his voice now betraying his agony. "I raised her, Iggy. I… I could have saved her."

"No, I _should_ have," England said, and America could only stare at him.

"What do you mean? How…?"

"I knew what she was becoming," England said. "You… Alfie, you were a child then. You are not a child anymore, but you were then. I should have recognized that you, a child, could not care for another child alone. Had I realized that… I could have saved Panem, and you, and all of the children who suffer now. I… I blame myself for what has happened here as much as you do, and I am far more to blame than you. In nation terms, and even in human ones, you are still a child, Alfred, and children should not have to make adult choices. But coming here to save me, confronting Panem… Those were brave, adult choices. And the most adult choice that you made yet was that of putting aside your own burdens and comforting someone else who was suffering."

America thought that England must mean Belarus, and wondered how the older man could know that he had tried to be kind to the icy girl. But then, he remembered something that had happened before, and knew what England was referring to.

"Estonia," he said, very quietly. "I… He… He was Lithuania's brother. I couldn't just let him suffer by himself. He… No kid should have to… To go through something like that. It was too horrible. I couldn't just let him cry all alone…"

"That was a heroic gesture," England persisted. "He needed comfort, Alfie, and you gave it to him. That is what heroes do."

"But I can't save him," America said, remembering the terror and pain that he had seen in Estonia's eyes, in his every frightened gesture. "I can't save any of you. Heroes are supposed to save people."

"Sometimes… Sometimes people can't be saved, Alfie," England said, his voice gentle. "I know you think you're only our hero if you save all of us, but please, believe me… You are my hero no matter what. We're all too far gone to be saved, Alfie… But you gave Estonia strength and comfort enough that he could get up and move forward, despite his pain. And… I… I have someone to live for, as long as you're here."

America could not believe England's words, and he turned away, fighting tears.

_"Heroes are supposed to save everyone… Even if they have to sacrifice themselves. But the only one who isn't being sacrificed… Is me."_

* * *

Belarus was frightened, cold, and so terribly alone. She longed to hear a sound, a voice… Anything but silence.

The temperature in her cell had been dropping ever since she had been returned with lash marks on her back, and no upper covering besides her bra. She was shivering, despite her own icy composure, and she hated herself for the involuntary weakness.

The whip marks on her back still stung, and she remembered darkly that this was how Lithuania had felt almost every day of his life for decades.

She was afraid, and she wished that Lithuania could be with her now. The guards had delivered her food recently, and she missed Latvia desperately, especially because of the guards' presence.

They looked at her with lust, and it frightened her, for she was no longer sure that she had the strength to resist them if they were to try to hurt her. She was the only female prisoner, and it was frightening, so frightening, to know that Panem's soldiers might hurt her, and to realize that no one would be able to protect her.

She missed Lithuania. She wanted to feel his arms around her, because if he were there, she would feel safe. She would have something to live for again.

But he was gone, gone forever, and she would have to live with the knowledge that she had driven him to beg for death.

Panem, Belarus thought, had been right. She had destroyed Lithuania, even as she had tried to protect him. He had needed her, and she had left him.

And as if in answer to her thoughts, the recording of his screams began to play again. This recording tormented her at frequent intervals, and she had memorized the sequence, knew the frequency of Lithuania's tortured cries with a dark perfection.

And those screams were driving her closer to insanity. She tried not to cry, but the moment the recording began to play, she burst into tears, knowing that this marked the beginning of a terrible, seemingly eternal psychological torment.

"No more!" she shrieked, burying her head in her hands, her entire body trembling with rage, grief, and cold, but most especially with remorse for her past actions.

"Please, no more… Not again… I can't take it, I'm scared! I want to go home. B-big brother…? Come rescue me? I know I scared you, but that wasn't me! That was Belarus. N-Natalya needs rescuing. Please rescue me! It _hurts_!"

Her voice had risen to a hysterical, agonized shriek, blending and matching the recording of what she believed had been Lithuania's final torment. She heard his screams, and she wished desperately that he would come to her, even if he were dead. She would gladly settle for Lithuania's ghost, if only he would come and comfort her.

But he could not do such a thing, for ghosts did not exist. And even if they did, even if Lithuania could visit her, she had destroyed his life and sanity. Even if he were alive to give his love, she did not deserve it.

Belarus's body shuddered harder, and she began to rock back and forth almost subconsciously, desperate to escape the pain, to flee from the sounds of Lithuania's screams.

"Toris, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, agonized tears running down her face. "Someone please save me… I'm sorry… I will never pretend to be insane again if you will just let me out! Let me out of here!"

Her hysteria had grown too much to bear, and Belarus hurled herself at the door, scratching and screaming, beating the door in utter panic and agony.

"Let me out!" she shrieked. "Please! I'll be good! I'll be Natalya forever, and I'll be sane and good and I will not scare people! Please let me out!"

There was no response, merely a continuation of Lithuania's screams in the background, and Belarus sank down against the door, agonized tears still running down her face.

"Let me out…" she whispered. "I'm going insane in here… Please… Please, someone… Someone… Can anyone hear me? Natalya wants to go home."

* * *

"Hey, Japan?"

The very last thing that Japan wanted to do was look at Italy, let alone answer the red-haired boy's questions. There were many questions from Italy, now that the initial shock had faded, and he did not like answering those questions.

He missed having Germany there to answer Italy, and he also missed Germany's leadership, such as it had been. He had never realized how fully Italy had relied on Germany, not until now.

"Do you think anybody else survived?" Italy asked, and, unwillingly, Japan turned to look at the small, red-haired Italian.

Italy sat quite still, leaning against the wall of a building. He was thin and pale, but he was still alive, and he was, at least, speaking again. For the first few days, he had not spoken at all, as if the pain of what had happened had locked all emotion deep within his small and fragile form.

"I mean, Germany wasn't in the middle of the building," Italy said, very quietly. "He was next to the window, right? Because he went back to help when the first bomb exploded, and… Well, he wasn't in the middle of the bombs going off, so there must have been others who were in the same kind of position, right? There might have been other people who could have survived?"

"Italy, I do not know if there is anyone else alive," Japan murmured. "But it is most unlikely that they all died."

_"He talks about it as if he still does not fully understand it. He talks as if Germany…as if Germany returning to help the others and dying for it…is not a permanent thing. Perhaps because he wants to believe that Germany will come back? But… Does he remember? We saw Germany, dead. Germany is dead. Italy knows this… Does he not?"_

"Do you think we can find them?" Italy asked, and Japan considered the question, reflecting on their situation as he did so. They had been living in back alleyways, unable to find any place that would take in a hyperactive Italian and quiet, introverted Japanese man. In a way, Japan was afraid to try the darker parts of the city, knowing that there were people there who might attack people like himself and Italy, two seemingly young and weak men traveling alone.

_"If it comes to it, I can fight. But my ability to fight will single me out. The soldiers will find us if we attract attention to ourselves… They are already looking. I have seen them, have pushed Italy into dark alleyways, because that bright smile and that strange hair are simply too noticeable. I do not think he understands why I have brought him here, but at least… At least he is still smiling sometimes. As long as he smiles, all is not completely lost. There is still Italy Veneziano, Feliciano, even after the end of the world. Someone to take care of. Someone to protect."_

"We can try to find them, Italy," he said uncertainly. "But I do not know if we can succeed."

"But if we try, we're sure to find someone eventually!" Italy said, smiling widely. "Maybe even Germany!"

_"He truly does not remember… Oh, Italy… Please, realize this before I have to tell you… Germany is dead."_

* * *

**So, yes, Germany is dead. (I'm sorry!) Basically, after making certain that Italy and Japan were safe, he went back to try and get the others to leave, and was caught in the explosion. And, yes, Italy is trying his best to deny the fact that Germany is dead. **

**Let's see, I had a few more notes... Ah, yes. Panem. Basically, this is the first time she's ever died. I've never died, so I can't be certain of this, but dying in itself does strike me as a traumatic experience, and it seems to me that it would be even more traumatic if you spent twelve hours in a coma, reliving the deaths of various people whom you may or may not know. Also, no one ever told Panem that this was going to happen if someone happened to 'kill' her. All in all, she's fairly traumatized by it all. **

**OK, soooo, I am an idiot. An idiot who forgot to double check the timeline. IT WILL COME NEXT WEEK! And this time I really mean it. I'll go and edit and double check it as soon as I finish typing this author's note.**

**Right, anyways! Next time will cover all the rest of the nations who have appeared as major characters so far, along with three (I think?) of the other surviving nations, including someone whose survival I can guarantee most of you are unaware of...**

**Also, last thing! This fic officially has 103 reviews! So, I will take this opportunity to thank you all again for your feedback and support. This really means a lot to me, so thank you! :) **


	22. In This Darkness

**Hello! I almost forgot I had to update today-time flies when you're trying to squeeze as much fun as possible into the last two weeks of summer! But I am here now!**

**OK, so, the word count for this chapter is so long because of the timeline tacked onto the end. And, other than that, everything I have to say can wait until the end. I hope you all enjoy this second installment of the status update! :)**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: In This Darkness

They must not have told Estonia that China had been given water the day before this, for China woke at some time during the long day to find the blonde Baltic crouched next to him, once again holding a cup of water to his lips.

"I thought you were dead," Estonia said raggedly, and China could see fear and pain in the boy's eyes. He also saw something foreign and cold, something that frightened him, and he sat up, watching Estonia.

"Are you all right, aru?" he said softly, although he knew that _of course_ Estonia was not all right, not in a place like this.

Estonia began to shake, and China could only watch him, trying to understand the strange emotion in the boy's dull, broken gaze.

And he realized that it had been days since he had seen Estonia, and knew that something had been done to the boy in that time, something that had scarred and hurt him deeply, perhaps irreparably.

He had never seen Estonia shake like this. It reminded him of Latvia, and to see the cold Estonian reduced to a shivering child was nothing less than terrifying for China.

"What did she do to you?" he asked, taking the glass of water from Estonia's shaking hands. "Ssh, ssh… Don't cry, aru…"

Estonia had not been crying before, but now he was, and China felt as if his plea for the boy not to break down had somehow been the last straw for the fragile Estonian.

"I'm going insane," Estonia whispered, his tears falling onto the cold floor beneath him. "I'm a-already insane, and it's just a matter of t-time before I lose my mind completely… I d-don't want to go completely insane… I don't want to die here… I want to live…"

And China suddenly understood the strange emotion in Estonia's tortured gaze, and he was frightened, not for himself, but for Estonia, who was indeed losing his mind, as Lithuania had feared he would under torture.

"Your brother knew," he murmured softly, and Estonia's anguished sobs grew louder.

"Yes, he knew, when he was _dying_," he sobbed. "I wasn't insane then. I wasn't insane, I was going to hold on… I was going to protect Raivis…"

China realized then that Estonia was trying to be like Lithuania, in order to protect the little brother that both Baltics had cherished, and he, too, felt tears come to his eyes. He and Lithuania had both failed to protect their siblings, and now, it seemed, Lithuania had joined China's siblings in the escape that death provided, while China was left alive to watch Lithuania's brother lose his mind under a terrible torture.

He did not know how to comfort Estonia, and he could not shield the fragile, broken boy from whatever Panem was doing to him. He could only stay here, locked in his cell, and wonder what would have happened to Estonia's mind when he saw the boy again.

And so, because he did not know what else to do, he went to Estonia, embraced the boy as he would one of his own siblings, and bit back his own bitter tears, so that Estonia could at least be comforted for a time, oblivious to the pain that he, China, was feeling.

His head hurt constantly, now, from the lack of food and a miniscule supply of water, and he was having trouble thinking, now, even as he tried to comfort Estonia, and he almost forgot that this was not one of his own siblings, crying in his arms, but the younger brother of a boy whom he had not saved.

He could not save Estonia, either, but he could comfort the boy. It was all he could do for any of them now. He had been locked away to die, alone in the dark, and he was afraid. The ache in his head and stomach were a constant reminder that he was going to die. He did not know when, but it would be soon. His body would begin to shut down, and someday, in a few weeks at most, he would die.

_"But until I die, I will try to help Estonia. I… It is frightening to see him like this, and he cannot suffer alone. I will comfort him, if I can, and perhaps… Can he survive? Surely someone can survive? I… Even if it will do him no good… I will try to stay sane… So that I can help Lithuania's brother."_

* * *

Latvia was going to break down. He had to; he did not have a choice. He had barely managed to keep a straight face as he darted into Belarus's cell, handed her food and water, and run out again.

He had not stopped feeling on the verge of tears since Estonia had been brought back, clearly on the brink of losing his mind entirely. And Latvia knew that when Estonia finally broke, finally lost all control over his own mind, then he, too, would go mad. And if he went mad, here, under Panem's influence, he did not know what he might do. He might well kill someone.

And he was frightened, for he knew that harming another human being-whether it be Estonia or Panem or anyone else-would do him no good. And he also knew that in a family which he had once been a part of, insanity meant that you would hurt and abuse others, whether or not that was truly what you wanted to do.

He had seen it with Estonia, who was his brother. He had seen it with Russia, who had been the start of their family's insanity. They were not blood relatives, but Russia had wanted them to be a family.

And all that had come of their family was an agony that would never, ever end.

The curse of insanity had fallen on them all, and Latvia was frightened. He did not want to be insane, not the way Estonia was, not the way Russia had been, and certainly not the way Panem was now. Panem's insanity was worst of all, and he was terrified of becoming like her.

There were tears on his face as he entered Iceland's cell, and he felt guilty, knowing that the tormented Nordic boy would surely notice the tears.

"Raivis, leave," were the only words he heard from Iceland. There were no questions, simply that command. And Latvia was frightened, because Iceland sounded completely broken, and that scared him. Iceland had always seemed extremely strong. Cold, perhaps, but so very strong…

And now he sounded as if he had been broken, as if he was hurting with an incurable agony.

"You have to eat," Latvia whispered. "You'll die if you don't."

"I _want_ to die," Iceland said. "Leave me alone."

Latvia ignored him, walking closer. As he approached, Iceland turned his face away.

"I don't want it," he said. "Go away. Let me die."

"Panem won't let you die," Latvia said, reaching out his hand, not completely sure what he planned to do with it. "She won't just let you... She'll make you eat…"

"Then I'll make her angry, and then she'll kill me!" Iceland sobbed, his anguish completely evident in his voice. "I… I will do anything to get out of here… I'll die. It would be better than this."

Latvia stared at Iceland, and realized that both of their worlds had crashed down.

"Your big brother is dead, too," he whispered childishly, and all of the stubbornness, all of the desperation seemed to leave Iceland. The Nordic boy slumped forward, hanging limply in the chains that held him fast, sobbing.

"Yes, Lukas is dead. Lukas is not going to help me. No one… No one can help… I want my big brother!"

Latvia realized suddenly that whatever happened to him, whatever he saw, he was not nearly as bad off as Iceland was. Even if Panem killed Estonia, even if Estonia killed _himself_, Latvia was not suffering as much as Iceland. Iceland was locked away to die, alone with the knowledge that his entire family was dead. From the constant bruises on the silver-haired boy's face, Latvia could only imagine how often Iceland was tortured, and it was sad and frightening to see someone so strong reduced to this pitiful sadness.

And suddenly, Iceland's hopeless sorrow, seen in one who had once been strong, reminded Latvia of Lithuania.

He remembered that Lithuania had begged for death, as Iceland had begged only moments ago, and his heart, which still retained a childish pity, was filled with a deep, aching sadness, pity for the broken Nordic boy, who, in these cruel circumstances, had broken as Latvia's older brothers both had.

Iceland's coldness had been similar to Estonia's, and now they both cried out for death, for mercy, for a release from their agony.

And Latvia, realizing this, could not remain silent as Iceland suffered. For he recognized a part of both his brothers in the Nordic boy, and did not want Iceland to fall as Estonia and Lithuania had.

He did not think about how long Iceland had been there, immobile, kneeling in the same position. It did not matter. Iceland needed comfort, and it did not matter if he was dirty or not. Latvia could not stand by while the Nordic boy suffered… Not when he had seen a reflection of his brothers in Iceland.

He embraced Iceland, who immediately stiffened and tried to pull away.

"Don't do that. I'm… Do you know how long…?"

"I don't care," Latvia said, holding Iceland close, tears running down his face. "Even if you're all dirty, then I will still hold you close. Y-you remind me of my b-brothers, Eirikur, so I won't leave you to break all alone! E-even if _I _break, I'll still try to be here for you…"

Iceland said nothing, but Latvia could feel his body shuddering, and knew that the Nordic boy was also crying.

"You're an idiot, Raivis," he said quietly, and the words reminded Latvia so much of Estonia… He cried harder, held Iceland tighter, and begged the silver-haired boy to please keep going, please never give up, because he did not know what he would do if Iceland, too, were to go insane.

He knew that he had grown attached to the imprisoned boy far too easily, and that it would only bring both of them pain, in the end. But he could not help it. The words Iceland had spoken were like echoes of Lithuania and Estonia. One of Latvia's brothers was dead. The other was going insane. And Iceland reminded him of both of the brothers that he loved above all else.

Still holding Iceland close, Latvia allowed himself to cry as he had not cried since he had been imprisoned. He was mourning for his family, for his friends…

And he was crying because he longed for his own fading sanity to be restored to him, so that he could truly help Iceland, and Estonia, and all of the others who had been imprisoned by Panem.

Perhaps if he was whole again, he could save Panem from herself.

He knew he could never be truly sane again… And so he cried for his lost childhood, his forgotten innocence, and because of his own broken sanity.

* * *

France was filled with a mixture of self-hatred and self-pity, and he did not know which emotion was going to end up taking over him.

As long as he had been able to drink, self-pity had easily consumed him. He had allowed England and America to go to their deaths, and although he hated himself for that, he also pitied himself enough that he was constantly drinking in an effort to forget. He was desperate to forget, and yet…

He knew that he had frightened Canada by allowing the boy to catch him drinking. And Canada had taken his outlet away. He could not blame the boy, for were their roles reversed, he would have done the same.

But at this moment, all he could do was lie still on the sofa, pretending to be asleep. He did not have the energy to get up, did not have the strength to go on.

He could not be a father or a protector to Canada. He did not have the presence of mind, and although he knew the pain that he was causing to the boy must be great, he did not have the will to pull himself together.

His eyes were closed, but tears leaked past his eyelids onto his face. And still he did not stir, merely lay there, feeling empty and broken, and blaming himself for letting England and America be subjected to a terrible fate.

He could not move on. Not anymore. He had been through much in his long life, and now, there seemed no point in fighting for his life, not when he was mortal, and would eventually die anyways.

France was waiting for Panem to track him down. As long as Canada could escape her, he did not care what happened to himself.

He would rather die than live with his demons for one more day.

* * *

Estonia returned to his room with Latvia, perhaps more broken than he had been before. He knew that he had been selfish, allowing China to comfort him when the older nation was already so weak. China, too, was imprisoned in this hellish place, and China, unlike him, did not even have the luxury of receiving food three times a day.

He managed to excuse himself somehow, managed to get to the bathroom without breaking down. Once there, however, Estonia collapsed on the floor. His half-healed feet still throbbed from the torture that he had been subjected to only a few days before, but more than that, he was in mental agony.

"I… It hurts…" he sobbed. "It hurts… I don't want to… I don't want to feel like this for the rest of my life! I don't want to be insane! Please, please… I'm sorry! I'll never do anything bad again… I… It hurts… I'm scared! I don't want to be insane… Please… I… I want…to go home…"

He did not simply want to go home. He wanted his entire family to come home with him, to see everyone he loved safe, unharmed… Sane. He wanted to be sane again, and he wanted to be able to believe in the lasting nature of that sanity.

He wanted safety. He wanted his family back, safe and happy. He longed to see his friends' smiling faces and know that they were there for him.

He longed for solace, but there was none. There was merely a terrible agony deep in his heart, the pain that came with the knowledge that he would soon go completely insane, that he would soon have nothing left to him but madness.

"I don't want this," he whispered. He was still kneeling on the floor, his head lowered. "Please, I never wanted this. I just wanted to help… T-to save someone… Why did this have to happen to me? What did I do wrong? I tried so hard… Why did this happen to me?!"

He was wailing aloud in pain and grief, and he knew from the pounding on the door that Latvia had heard him. But it did not matter, it would never matter. He had failed them, all of them, and most importantly, he had failed himself. He had not been able to save anyone. Not himself, not even Latvia.

He had failed.

"If it was all in vain, then why?" he whispered, tears streaming down his face. He lifted his head, staring at the ceiling above him as if some answer to his tormented questions might appear there.

"Why did this have to happen to me? Why not someone else? W-why me…? What did I do to deserve this? I… I want to go back… To a time when I was safe and happy, when no one would ever hurt me… I want to go back to that… Please, let me go back! I don't want to be insane! Stop… Stop this! I can't take it anymore!"

And yet, he had no choice but to continue enduring. He had no means of killing himself, and even if he had had such an option, he was too afraid. The knowledge that he could actually die was a terrifying thought to the frightened, broken Estonian. He did not know what punishment might await him for his actions, but if there was a punishment, then, surely, it awaited him in the afterlife.

He knew that he could never go back, could never reverse his actions, and he also knew that his agony was not yet at an end. Estonia moaned quietly, he curled into a ball, and cried as he had never cried in all his life.

_"What did I do to deserve this?"_

* * *

Canada cried himself to sleep the night he realized that he would never again be protected by his Papa, and for every night afterwards. It was his job to take care of France, now, and the job was an agonizing one for the fragile, quiet boy, who had always believed in a childish way that France would take care of him again, if something like this were to happen.

He had not realized how much pain France was in, but it seemed that his Papa had been struggling with such pain for years, perhaps for centuries, and Canada felt a deep and agonizing grief in the realization that he had never been there for France when the older man had needed him. France had shielded him all this time, and he felt guilty, knowing that France had suffered silently for so long.

But he still longed, selfishly, desperately, to have his Papa returned to him, sane again, as he had appeared when Canada was young. He wanted France to comfort him, wanted to be a protected child again.

But France had broken, and thus, he, Canada, was not allowed to break. He must take care of France now, and in order to take care of France, he would have to assume the very mask that the older nation had once hidden behind.

He must pretend to be light-hearted even when he was falling apart inside. He must pretend to be strong, when he was in reality a scared, shy, stuttering boy, who wanted nothing more than to be protected by someone else.

He would have to pretend to be like America, as well. France needed a hero, and America was not there with his ever-present cheerfulness. Canada could not be as cheerful as America, but he could try to make France happy. It might not work, but he could try.

All this was a dreadful burden to him. He recalled with a deep sadness the times when France had protected him. Now, he had to become France's caretaker, and this burden was extremely difficult for a young boy to bear alone.

And so he cried at night, and smiled in the daytime. His smiles were light, not inappropriately cheerful. Had France been less sad, less broken, he might have noticed the sadness that Canada's shy smiles could not hide.

But France was broken, sad, and would not recover. And so Canada's sadness went unnoticed, unacknowledged as the boy himself had always been.

His tears were the only acknowledgement that his sadness was allowed. Canada would allow himself no other outlet besides his bitter, midnight tears. It was his duty to protect France.

And if he were to protect France, he must not become him.

* * *

England could not sleep, but, it seemed, America still could. He was grateful for that, for he knew now that he could not show any weakness or pain in front of his brother.

He could not allow his pain to show at all. He was, it seemed, the strongest person left in this place. He knew from America that Belarus was there, and he knew that she, too, was being broken by torture. Estonia had said that Iceland was there as well, and despite the Nordic boy's icy demeanor, England could not imagine Iceland coping well with this torment. Iceland seemed too much like Estonia, before the boy had been shown to be broken and afraid. And Latvia… Latvia certainly could not be fairing well, considering how nervous he was even when he was completely safe.

It was America and Estonia that worried him the most. America, with his hero complex, was fading fast in terms of hope. The boy believed that he was worth nothing to anyone if he could not save them, and he could not see how much England needed him, even when England had told him that he was needed. There was simply no way that America would believe that he was worth anything, not without saving someone.

And there was no way that any of them could be saved from this terrible place, unless by some miracle. England knew this, although he tried desperately to deny it. He could not bring himself to believe that they would all die here, in this despair.

But there was no other alternative, was there? They could not escape Panem forever, even if they did manage to leave this prison.

If it came to it, England would be willing to sacrifice his life in order to free the others. But after witnessing the consequences of America's attempt to bargain with Panem, he knew that there would be no trade, or, at least, no easy one.

If there was to be a trade, then it would have to be that of one person staying behind, sacrificing their life so that the rest of their party could escape.

"But that's no good," England said aloud, keeping his voice soft so as not to wake America. "I can't even get out of this bloody cell, let alone free the others!"

It was not for lack of trying. The prison's thick, metal doors could not be opened by mere human strength, and England had always been rather less than the norm when it came to physical strength. In the old days, he would have relied on his magic to get them out of this prison. But his magic was gone, having deserted him along with his immortality, and he could not regain it, despite the numerous spells that he had tried. It was as if, with the ascension of Panem, all good magic had fled the world, recognizing the rise of a monster who would show the old, immortal beings no mercy.

Perhaps England's magical friends had deserted him because they knew something that he did not. Perhaps they knew that he would meet a sad fate, and they did not wish to watch.

England sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, and closing his eyes. His maimed hand throbbed uncomfortably, and he wondered vaguely how many days it had been since that torture session. It seemed as if it had been an age, and yet, he would not wish another torture session on himself, not even…

No. He would wish it upon himself if it would spare any other prisoner from agony or death. If he could help America, Estonia, or any of the others, he would gladly, willingly, submit to torture. Death, even, although he would not go without a trace of reluctance, then. Even he was not so unselfish as to throw his own life away without a thought.

But he was the strongest person left alive, here in this prison. And so he would do whatever he could to protect those weaker than himself. He would not attempt to bargain with Panem as America had, for such a foolish endeavor would only bring further suffering on those he held dear.

But if it came to it… If he could sacrifice himself and spare all others from harm, at least for a few hours…

He would do it without remorse.

* * *

Romano woke in the dead of night, sobbing, to find that this was the third nightmare in as many hours.

He had thought that the nightmares were gone, but he had been wrong, so, so wrong. He had known that he would not forget, but he had not thought that these memories would pursue him in his sleep, not weeks after the trauma had occurred.

The screams he had heard as the building collapsed, the knowledge that his younger brother had probably still been inside, was simply too much to forget easily. He had managed to get a fair ways away before the explosion, and had only stopped because he had realized that Spain was chasing him. And it was when Spain caught up with him that he saw the explosion.

The stricken look on Spain's normally cheerful face had been confirmation of all Romano's fears. This explosion had probably killed most of the nations, including his own brother.

He sometimes tried to pretend that Veneziano, the boy who was most recognized as Italy, was not dead. And sometimes he thought that he felt pain which was not his own, and this gave him hope that Veneziano was not dead, but was alive somewhere, safe.

_"If he's alive, he's probably with that potato bastard… Germany. And if he's with that man… Then… Then he should be safe. He'd better be safe. He… He might be safer dead, though. That way, at least, Feli isn't being chased by…by that girl's soldiers."_

He could not even think Panem's name, not knowing what she had done. Romano was terrified of her, terrified of the inevitable day when he and Spain would be unable to evade the soldiers who constantly followed them.

On that day, he knew, they might be shot. Or worse, so much worse, they might be taken to the hell that was spoken of only in vague rumors, a prison facility which was more hearsay than reality. It existed, the rumors said, to deal with dangerous rebels, people who sought to overthrow the new government which had saved them in a time of crisis.

And these people, Romano knew, were the past nations of the world.

It had been Spain who had figured it out. Spain, who was actually not nearly so stupid and gullible as Romano had imagined him to be. Spain, who had kept them alive all this time. Spain, whose smile was growing fainter, growing more tired with each passing day.

Spain, who was sitting next to Romano now, rubbing his back and whispering in his ear.

"We'll be okay," Spain said, and Romano resisted the urge to shout at him, to tell him that nothing was okay, with a crazy person ruling their world. It was not okay, not with his brother gone. Without the ridiculous boy who constituted the other half of Italy, Romano did not feel quite himself. He missed his younger brother, and, again, began to wonder if little Italy Veneziano was still alive and free.

"I mean, you have me, right?" Spain continued, and Romano could hear a smile in his voice. But that smile was growing sad and tired, harder to keep up. He was realizing this, realizing that Spain was more broken than he had appeared. And it was terrifying.

"I'm the boss, so I'll protect you!" Spain said, his voice cheerful, and Romano did not trust himself to reply. He lay still, letting Spain rub his back, not even protesting when the Spaniard's hand moved to his hair. He would have protested had Spain touched his curl, but the older man kept his distance, and so, Romano stayed silent, almost comforted by the presence of his older friend.

_"Idiot. We're not going to be okay. But thanks for trying, Antonio. Your trying so hard is keeping both of us alive."_

He felt guilty for this thought, knew that he was doing nothing to help Spain bear the pain that they were now subjected to. But he did not know how to help, was not sure that his help was even wanted.

He lay still, and Spain's friendly, familiar touch was the last thing he felt before he succumbed to sleep again. Far away, in the back of his mind, he felt a glimmer of fear, fear that was not his own, and wondered if that was Veneziano, who might also be having a nightmare somewhere.

* * *

The rain fell heavily in the city on this bitter night. Most people had gone home, discouraged by the heaviness of the rain. It seemed that the streets were deserted, save for one blond-haired boy.

He stood alone on the street corner, his face lifted toward the angry, clouded sky. The rain disguised his tears, but it could not take away the anguish that was evident in his every feature. His deep green eyes were full of an insuppressible agony, although he did not sob aloud, merely allowing silent tears to trickle down his face, mingling with the rain.

He had wandered alone for nearly two weeks, finding food and shelter where he could. And for two weeks he had denied what he had seen. He had denied the blood, the pain, the agony. He had denied seeing his sister lying dead. He had denied pulling her broken body from the wreckage, had denied the fact that his pleas for her to wake were all in vain.

He had denied the fact that his younger sister was dead, but he could do so no longer. The world as he knew it was gone, and his neutrality had done nothing to save him, or the sister he had held so dear. There had been no conflict, nothing he could stay aloof from, but merely a murderous outrage which had taken the life of his sister.

He wanted to deny it, for the thought that she was dead, gone forever, was agony to him.

But he could deny it no longer. He must somehow come to terms with this pain, and he must somehow move forward, and, perhaps, he could rescue another child, one who was in need as his sister had once been.

He had found her in the rain, and it was now, standing in the rain, that he came to the realization that she was gone. He did not accept it, but he also did not deny it. He knew that she was dead.

Standing alone on the street corner, agonized tears running down his face, Switzerland mourned the death of his sister.

* * *

**Notes on stuff: Romano feeling a sort of connection to Veneziano makes sense to me, since they're the two halves of Italy. Therefore, they have some sort of connection, although, in this universe, it's not very strong, and all that Romano can feel is the occasional burst of strong emotion from Veneziano, which gives him hope that his little brother might have survived. **

**Also, I cannot write Romano. Or Spain. Or Switzerland. So if those last two POVs completely sucked, that's why. I'm still getting used to those characters, so yeah.**

**And, yes, Liechtenstein is dead. (I'm sorry!) Moving on in order to avoid bodily injury to myself...**

**For now, the timeline is below, along with a list of confirmed dead/alive nations. All nations not listed are currently "status unknown". **

**Day 1- America awakes to find himself half-buried in rubble, with England attempting to dig him out. He remembers Panem's speech and the explosion that followed. He and England search for others, and find France and Canada. Russia has a flashback to the explosion, and Ukraine is confirmed to have been killed. Lithuania, China, Russia, and Belarus take refuge in an abandoned warehouse. Estonia and Latvia are confirmed to have survived the explosion, and go to search for survivors, only to encounter Panem. Prior to this, Estonia finds Finland and the other Nordics, dead. Panem takes Estonia and Latvia into custody. America, England, France, and Canada find refuge with a former American government official, Nichols. Estonia and Latvia are imprisoned in something similar to a hotel room, and Estonia allows the frightened Latvia to share a bed with him, vowing to protect his little brother at all costs.**

**Day 2- England, America, France, and Canada discuss the probability of there being other survivors, as well as the likelihood of Panem going after the micronations. Estonia is interrogated, and, as he knows nothing about the other nations' whereabouts, eventually falls unconscious without revealing anything. He later awakens, to be told that Panem only tortured him to see his reaction. Panem mentions the possibility of Latvia being tortured, and, as Estonia threatens her with the rumors of his own insanity, she tells him that she will not try to break Latvia until after she has killed Estonia. He is then returned to his room, where, despite Latvia's wishes, he promises to protect his little brother until the day of his death. Lithuania and China talk, and Russia informs them that he is now sane, and that he will try his best to help out as much as he can.**

**Days 3 and 4- The nations attempt to cope, unsuccessfully in many cases. (A timeskip takes place here, hence, there is no detailed plot summary for these two days.) **

**Day 5- England, America, Canada, and France go to the city, and, splitting into pairs, begin to search for survivors. France and England have a run-in with Panem's soldiers. England is shot in the leg, and convinces France to leave him behind, resulting in his own imprisonment. France reunites with America and Canada, and, after learning that England has been captured, America plans to save him. England is threatened with torture, and, as he refuses to voluntarily give his friends' location away, this threat is put into effect. Against France's wishes, America runs away, intending to save England. He arrives at Panem's headquarters, to find England being tortured. Panem, having received notice of America's approach, appears behind him and knocks him out, effectively ending his rescue mission. America later awakens and is brought to Panem's office, where she proceeds to explain one of the reasons behind her insane actions-a lonely childhood, which America unintentionally brought upon her. With Panem's declaration that America is not a hero, he is taken to England's cell. **

**Day 6- Russia has a nightmare/flashback to the Soviet era. After waking from this, he accidentally frightens Lithuania, who then proceeds to tell him that the past cannot affect them now, and that they must press on and forget their nightmares. Lithuania witnesses a television broadcast that portrays the nations as 'dangerous rebels'. He encounters an unnamed little girl, who reminds him of Latvia, and he wishes that this girl could have the happy future that his family and friends were denied. America is forced to watch as Panem tortures England, and, despite his efforts, is unable to stop the torture session. Estonia wakes to find Latvia asleep literally on top of him, and, upon Latvia's announcement that there are new clothes in the room, he sends Latvia off to change clothes. He then realizes that Panem is completely alone, as he once believed he was, and surmises that this is the reason for her unusual behavior toward himself and Latvia. Lithuania returns to the hideout, only to find Russia missing. Angered by his failure to keep an eye on her brother, Belarus strikes Lithuania and orders him to find Russia, which he goes to do, despite China's protests. Once outside, however, he breaks down, and, as he cries, Russia returns and demands to know who hurt him. Russia then proceeds to tell Belarus that neither of them have the right to abuse Lithuania, and orders her not to do so again. Russia and Belarus leave the room, and Lithuania begins to cry again, at which point, Russia returns, and, along with China, assures him that everything will be all right. Belarus remembers her past with Lithuania, and attempts to reconcile her current actions with the belief that Lithuania is safer this way. England and America are returned to their cell, and England assures America that Panem can be beaten. **

**Day 7- Lithuania wakes to find Russia gone again. He and China wait for Russia's return, but, instead, their hideout is discovered by Panem. Panem proceeds to attempt to humiliate China, informs him that his siblings are dead, and then, despite his and Belarus's protests, tortures Lithuania in an attempt to make the three nations disclose Russia's location. When this fails, she leaves Lithuania to die, taking China and Belarus into custody. America is brought to Estonia and Latvia's room, where they are shown a recording of Lithuania's torture and presumed death. Latvia, traumatized by witnessing his older brother's torment, begins to show signs of insanity, and threatens Panem only to break down when Estonia tells him to listen to his own voice, and he recognizes an echo of Estonia's past insanity. America is returned to his cell, where he breaks down in front of England, hating himself for his own inability to save the others. Russia returns to the hideout, and, finding Lithuania unconscious, flees with him in search of safety. China and Belarus are left alone in separate cells, both tormented by fear and regret. **

**Day 8- Estonia and Latvia are detailed to feed the other prisoners. Latvia begins to show slight symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome, and goes so far as to shout at Estonia, telling him that he is old enough to take care of himself. Iceland is revealed to be alive, having been imprisoned since the day of the initial explosion, where the rest of the Nordics were killed. Latvia begins to ignore Estonia in what he believes is an attempt to protect his older brother from his own growing insanity. Iceland is tormented by Panem, as he has been every day since his imprisonment began. Lithuania awakes to find himself and Russia in an apartment, which Russia had located prior to the incident which led to Belarus and China's kidnapping. **

**Day 9- China is visited by Estonia, who tells him that Panem is planning to starve him, giving him just enough water to sustain his life. The audio from Lithuania's torture is placed on a loop in Belarus's cell. America is once again forced to watch England be tortured, and, this time, three of England's fingers are amputated, which permanently handicaps him. America vows to find a way to dissuade Panem from further harming the other nations, to England's horror. Latvia continues his attempt to make Estonia hate him, only succeeding in making Estonia believe that he, Latvia, hates his older brother for going insane during their Soviet days and possibly triggering the cycle of insanity which none of the former Soviets can seem to escape. Lithuania wakes in the night after a traumatic nightmare/flashback, and breaks down crying on the bathroom floor, only to be found by Russia. **

**Day 10- Latvia drops a bottle of alcohol, and, in punishment for his brother's actions, Estonia is forced to walk across the glass shards. Estonia is then required to take food to the other prisoners, while Panem and Latvia talk. Latvia informs Panem that he 'loves' Estonia, which she finds extremely amusing. She then informs him that her plans for his future do not in any way involve Estonia. Estonia collapses while attempting to deliver England and America's food, and when America recognizes the extent of Estonia's injuries, he proceeds to try to comfort the younger boy. Lithuania accuses Russia of being the cause of Estonia's insanity, and Russia runs from the room, not wanting to remember what he has done, or come to terms with how far Lithuania has fallen. Canada discovers France, broken down and half-drunk, and proceeds to take away the alcohol, promising to take care of them both, as he realizes that France can no longer take care of himself or anyone else. Lithuania finds Russia in tears, and proceeds to apologize for what he said, as Russia tells him that he had every right to say those things. Lithuania speculates on what death is like for a nation. Estonia collapses on the way back to his room, and is tormented by Panem yet again. Panem explains that she hates all of the former nations for treating her as if she were less than them, and then reveals that Latvia is the one nation whom she does not hate, because he treated her kindly. She stabs Estonia in the shoulder, and explains that she plans to keep Latvia alive for as long as possible, until she absolutely has to kill him. Estonia is returned to his room and locks himself in the bathroom, intending to die alone. Panem arrives, and, as her guards take Estonia away, Latvia becomes hysterical, begging for Estonia to come back. China and Panem talk, and China comes to the conclusion that Panem, too, is afraid of being alone. **

**Day 11- America convinces Panem to talk to him. Panem reveals that Latvia played with her when they were children, and she remembers that he was kind to her. America attempts to convince Panem to torture him, and no one else, but only succeeds in making things worse for everyone. He is then forced to watch as Belarus is whipped. Panem suggests to Belarus that it was quite probably her fault that Lithuania was self-harming, as she broke his heart, and Belarus begins to believe that she truly was the one to blame for Lithuania's depression. America takes Belarus back to her cell, and attempts to comfort her, only to be pulled away by Panem's soldiers. Estonia wakes alone in a dark room, and is left alone for what seems like hours, before he is visited by Panem. Panem shows Estonia a recording of Latvia going berserk and destroying the prison kitchen. Kicked once for every object Latvia destroyed, Estonia once again begins to believe that he is back with Russia. America is returned to his cell and breaks down in front of England, having finally come to believe what Panem told him-that he is truly not a hero. Panem flashbacks to her time with Latvia as a child, and then, as she intends to leave Estonia alone, she is stopped by his pleas, which remind her of her own fear of being alone. She agrees to bring him along with her, but plans to 'have some fun' with him later. Once they are alone in her room, Panem informs Estonia that she knows how he got the scar on his heart, and she proceeds to tell him that Lithuania thought of him as worthless, only saving him because that was Lithuania's self-appointed task. His worst fears realized, Estonia breaks down, hallucinating a scene in which the child version of Panem murders his family in front of him. Panem eventually knocks him out, and then, reflecting on how alike she and Estonia are, she leaves to visit Latvia. Having destroyed his bedroom as well as the prison kitchen, Latvia gradually comes to the realization that Panem and Estonia are very similar. At this point, Panem arrives, and Latvia apologizes for not realizing how hurt she was before. He and Panem cry in each other's arms, both knowing that in the morning, things will revert to the way they were earlier that day. China is visited by what he believes are the ghosts of Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Korea, and develops a further resolve to live because of this encounter. Hopeless, desperate, and convinced of his worthlessness, Lithuania attempts suicide, only to be stopped by Russia, who is determined to keep him from dying at all costs, in an attempt to atone for his own past sins. **

**Day 12- Estonia awakes alone, only to have Panem appear soon after his awakening. Expecting to be tortured, he is shocked when Panem offers him a respite from his torment. He accepts her offer, only to have her steal his first kiss and proceed to twist his feelings for Ukraine, Finland, Lithuania, and Latvia. Enraged, Estonia attacks Panem, choking her to death and then proceeding to mutilate her corpse. He is finally returned to Latvia, whom he attacks, believing that Latvia cares more about Panem than about him. Latvia proceeds to explain the similarities between Estonia and Panem, eventually succeeding in temporarily bringing Estonia out of his maddened rage. Canada, realizing that France must be getting his alcohol from somewhere, confronts Nichols, who promises to stop supplying France with alcohol. **

**Day 13- Iceland, alone in his cell, remembers his family and wishes that they would come and save him, although he knows that they cannot. Lithuania awakes, and seeing that he is not dead, attempts to explain to Russia that he is no longer sane and that he is no use to Russia now. Russia, however, does not believe this, and decides that he will try to make it so that Lithuania can smile again. Both Russia and Lithuania become aware of the complete reversal in their positions. Panem awakes in the hospital, traumatized and afraid after her 'death' at Estonia's hands. She begins to plan her vengeance on both Estonia and America. England attempts to take the blame for what Panem has become, while trying to convince America that he is, in fact, their hero. Despite England's words, America has come to believe that he is worthless. Belarus finally breaks down completely, begging to be rescued from prison, and promising that she will never hurt anyone again. Italy asks Japan about the possibility of the other nations having survived the explosion, and Japan realizes that Italy has not yet come to terms with Germany's death. Estonia brings China's water, and quickly breaks down, revealing his growing insanity to China, who attempts to comfort him, and vows to try to take care of him as best he can, once again finding a reason to live. Iceland begs Latvia to let him starve, breaking down completely at the mention of Norway. Latvia is reminded of Estonia and Lithuania, and promises to take care of Iceland if he can. However, he promptly breaks down crying as well, Iceland's words once again reminding him of his brothers and of his own lost innocence. France loses all courage, wishing that Panem would find him and kill him. Estonia questions his own fate, begging for a reversal of time and destiny. Canada wishes for France's mental stability to return, but, knowing that it never will, tries to be strong for France's sake. England thinks on his inevitable demise, deciding that it would be best to die saving one of the younger nations if he can. Romano wakes from a nightmare to find Spain next to him, and thinks on Spain's ever-fading cheerfulness, which has kept them both going throughout the painful days. He then wonders if his younger brother is alive. Alone in the rain, Switzerland mourns for Liechtenstein. **

**Nation Statuses: **

**Confirmed Surviving Nations: Canada, France, England, America, Russia, China, Belarus, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Iceland, North Italy, Spain, South Italy, Japan, and Switzerland. **

**Confirmed Fallen Nations: Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Ukraine, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Korea, Germany, and Liechtenstein.**

**That was a ton of stuff, I know. Next time, we'll return to the main story, and the consequences of Estonia's attempt at murdering Panem will come to light... Among other things, naturally. Because there's never just one side to the story. **


	23. Heroes' Punishment

**Hello! Well, as you know, the plot's resuming this week, and, yes, this chapter will cover the result of Estonia' actions in past chapters. Consequently, of course, there is rather a lot of torture in this chapter. **

**So, without further comment, let's resume the main plotline, shall we?**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Heroes' Punishment

America had been dreading this moment, the moment when Panem would come for him again. He had feared that Belarus's torture was only the beginning of a cruel punishment, and it seemed he had been right, for the triumphant smirk on Panem's face was unmistakable.

She was going to do something horrible, and it was going to deeply scar both America and whoever was to be tortured this time.

Panem had taken America from his cell, away from England, who had once again done nothing, had once again merely watched in silence. America knew, as England doubtless did, that he would not be harmed. It was England who ought to worry about being hurt, and, thus, America did not feel any betrayal at the fact that England had allowed Panem to take him away. He was grateful to England for allowing the girl to take him, for this meant that England at least would not be hurt, not now.

Even so, he was afraid as he followed Panem down the corridor, and absolutely terrified when she said nothing to him, keeping her gaze on the ground. She never acted this way, was never so quiet and subdued. Either she was planning an extremely complex and cruel torture, or something had happened to her.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked finally, terrified by her silence, desperate to know what was going on.

She turned to him, and he saw a dark vacancy in her eyes, and, beneath that vacancy, he thought he saw a glimmer of fear. But that could not be, for Panem was never afraid. She struck terror into the hearts of others, but felt no fear herself.

"It's not as if you care!" she spat. "You've never cared, so don't act as if you do now! I hate you, Alfred! Be quiet!"

She sounded like a child, and America did not understand the reason for his sister's sudden erratic behavior. He saw only the stiffness in the way she carried herself, and he thought that perhaps there was real fear at the root of her strange behavior.

But what did the ruler of the world have to fear? The answer to this question eluded America as they walked down the cold halls of the prison, until they arrived at their destination.

This was a different room from the place where Belarus had been tortured. This one was farther down the hall, and the first thing that America noticed when he entered was the fact that this room looked like a torture chamber out of an old movie, with chains hanging from the ceiling, and dark stains on the walls and floor.

The second thing he noticed was Estonia, and he was immediately shocked at the sight of the blond boy, cold dread seeping into him as he realized what was going to happen.

"Panem, no. No. Don't hurt him."

Panem giggled quietly, and although the darkness in her eyes remained, it was permeated now by a mad light. America had never been able to fathom how someone's eyes could be light and dark at the same time, but now, he saw it clearly, and he understood. Panem's madness was a dark thing, but it made her eyes sparkle with a twisted light, and it was a terrifying expression, especially now, especially when America knew that she was going to torture a child, Estonia.

He glanced at Estonia, seeing that the blond Baltic was secured by chains at his wrist, kneeling on the floor, staring at America with a pleading, utterly broken expression. This was nothing like the Estonia whom America had tried to comfort a few days ago, when the boy had collapsed in his cell.

This was so much worse. Something had been done to Estonia, something terrible, and America had known that the previous day, when the Estonian boy had come to bring his food. Estonia had left quickly, but America had seen the change, and he had known that something cruel and agonizing had been done to Estonia, and that it had shattered the boy in a way that America could not begin to understand.

"What did you do to him?" America whispered, staring at Panem, and then glancing back at Estonia again. He saw the blond boy start to shake, and he clenched his fists, hating himself for his folly, hating himself for the torture he had doubtless doomed Estonia to.

"The better question would be 'what did he do to me?'!" Panem spat. She turned on Estonia, who stared at her, shivering, almost seeming as if he might break under the pressure of his shaking, as if he might go mad from the intensity of his terror.

And America realized that Estonia might well have already gone mad. For he had heard Lithuania's stories, whispered amid sorrow and tears, and he knew of Estonia's past insanity. If Estonia had done something to Panem, then it was extremely likely that it had come from insanity. And Estonia's insanity was strange and dangerous. That much America knew, although he had never seen Estonia insane before. He did not want to see Estonia insane, not now, not ever.

He glanced desperately at Estonia, and found that the boy's broken, pleading gaze had once again directed itself at him.

"I killed her," Estonia announced, his voice soft, broken, sad. "I don't regret it. I don't care what she does to me, I don't regret it! She deserves to die!"

"Shut up!" Panem hissed. "You're a monster!"

"You're a worse monster!" Estonia whimpered. "Much worse."

"I will add fifteen minutes to your torture for every time you talk back to me!" Panem spat, and America thought that Estonia was going to break down crying right then and there.

He thought that he, America, might well break down crying as well, for his worst fears were now confirmed. Panem was going to torture Estonia in front of him, and the other nations would doubtless be next. As he had feared, the others would pay for his folly, as they had been paying all along. And this time, and every time afterwards, he would have to watch every brutal moment of torment.

"What are you going to do to him?" he whispered, and Panem turned to him, smiling her insane, terrifying smile.

"I'm not going to do anything!" she sang, laughing wildly. "You're going to do it!"

America froze, his mind racing.

_"No… No, I couldn't! I won't! There's nothing she can do to make me… Nothing, nowhere… I won't do it! Not to that kid, not to anybody else, not _ever_… Not even if she kills me. I can't do that."_

"I won't," he said, hearing his own voice shake. "You c-can't make me."

"I think I can," Panem said, smiling. "If you don't comply with my wishes, America, then I'll kill Belarus. And it won't be fun. It won't be pretty. I will kill her right in front of you, very slowly. You don't want that to happen to her, do you? Not to a _girl_. You being the so-called hero, you must feel some sort of ridiculous obligation to protect girls. Or… If you'd prefer, I can kill Latvia."

"No!" Estonia's voice sounded completely, horribly broken, agonized and terrified. "No, you can't! You promised…"

"You murdered me, Eduard," Panem said coldly. "Promises are worth nothing now."

"And if I agree to torture Estonia," America whispered, hating himself for even uttering these words, words that would surely break whatever sanity and hope that the poor Estonian still possessed. "If I do that… What will you make me do?"

Panem smirked, and they all knew, then, that she had won. She knew that America would not risk anyone's lives, not if there was a different option.

The last thing that America wanted to do was hurt Estonia. If he could have chosen to torture anyone else, except perhaps England, he would have done it. He did not know if Estonia's mind could take any more torture, and he was certain that his own could not withstand the anguish of voluntarily harming another human being. If he hurt the Estonian boy, then his own psyche would likely be damaged beyond repair.

But he could not allow Belarus or Latvia to die, or anyone else. He could not allow that to happen, and so it was better for Estonia to suffer, than for someone else to lose their life, and be silenced forever.

He knew all this, and yet, he still hesitated, before turning to Panem.

"What will you make me do to him?" America repeated, and Panem's grin widened.

"So you'll do it?" she asked.

America gritted his teeth, staring straight at his sister, the girl who had driven all hope from his heart, all dreams of heroism from his soul.

"Yeah. I'll do it."

His gaze shifted to Estonia, and he saw the Baltic boy struggling against the chains, his eyes wide and panicked.

"No, please don't!" Estonia whimpered, and America wanted nothing more than to release the blond Baltic from this torture, to save him from this pain and from the monster who had driven them all to this place.

He wanted to save all of them from this.

"I haven't got any choice," he whispered, and he could only watch as Estonia began to cry like a child, his frail, scarred body shuddering.

"Well, someone is awfully pathetic today." Panem smiled. "Ready to begin, Alfie dear?"

Hearing her use England's nickname for him filled America with hatred, and he nearly attacked her, before realizing that this action would likely result in Estonia's torture being increased.

"Yeah," he managed. He felt as if he was going to cry himself, but he could not, not now. Heroes did not cry. He knew that he was not a hero, but he still wanted to pretend, despite the sheer horror of what he was about to do to an already broken child.

Panem giggled, and then, she turned away for a moment, and picked up an object which had lain on the floor this entire time.

America could only stare, and he heard Estonia's cries turn into hysterical gasps.

"Where did you get_ that_?"

The object which Panem held in her hand was unmistakably a faucet pipe. And that, America felt, would terrify Estonia more than anything else. He remembered, vaguely, that Russia had carried a pipe with him during the Soviet era, remembered Lithuania's morbid comments about the nature of faucet pipes, and he could only imagine how easily such a weapon would crush any of the frail Baltics.

"No! No!" Estonia was _screaming_, and he had not even been hurt yet. And when he was hurt, America would be the one hurting him. And that was terrible, horrible, the most brutal thing that Panem could have done to either of them.

She had given America the task of recreating Estonia's worst nightmare.

"You're trying to turn me into Russia," America whispered, and Panem laughed.

"Oh, Alfred… You already _are_ Russia. Childish, foolish… You don't understand that other people can be hurt by your actions, do you?"

"I do now!" America cried. "Panem, why can't you just accept that…?"

"Because it isn't true!" Panem spat. "You and Russia destroy people! You may have done it without meaning to, but you still did it callously, and I will never, ever forgive you for it! You're as much a monster as that man is, even if you never tormented your subordinates the way he did!"

_"No… No, I'm not like Russia! I mean… Russia's not evil. I understand that now. Lithuania explained it-he was insane! He didn't understand what he was doing to the Baltics and the rest of the Soviet nations… I-it wasn't his fault, but what he did was still evil. I didn't do anything like that! I… I'm not that kind of monster… Am I?"_

"After all…" Panem murmured, her smile twisted and cruel. "You destroyed me, driving me the same insanity that Estonia lives with. And Russia made you insane, didn't he, Eduard?"

Estonia, America knew, was crying too hard to reply, and sheer desperation to end this drove him to pull the faucet pipe from Panem's grasp, drove him to walk over to Estonia. He too had begun to shake, his entire body trembling. The pipe felt heavy in his hands, and he wanted nothing more than to throw the loathed weapon away.

"Will you really kill the others if I don't do this?" he asked, glancing back at Panem. The girl laughed quietly.

"What do you think, Raivis?" she asked, glancing toward the doorway. "Will I kill one of the others if he doesn't do this to your Eduard?"

America's gaze went toward the doorway, and he saw Latvia standing there, eyes wide.

One of Panem's soldiers had a gun pressed to the little boy's head.

"Not me," Latvia said, and, shockingly, there was no tremor in his voice, merely a calm, quiet acceptance. "She likes me, Mr. America, so she won't kill me unless she has to. But there's Ms. Belarus, and Mr. China and Iceland… A-and Mr. England… And she might kill all of them. She would probably kill Ms. Belarus, since she knows you w-want to protect her. But she won't kill me. She won't kill me, so if it would influence your decision, then you should know that. She will kill somebody, but it won't be me."

"If anyone at all has to die… Then I can't…" America whispered, and Latvia nodded sadly.

"Eddy-Eddy in his right mind, I mean-would agree with you. Eddy would want you to do it. He w-won't hate you, Mr. America. I'll make him understand that it wasn't your fault."

"T-then I'm sorry," America said. "I k-know… He'll have every right to hate me. You too, Raivis. It was my stupidity that got us into this. I'm really sorry, but… It _is _my fault. All of it is… A-and… That's something that I will regret for the rest of my life. I was going to be the hero, but I failed. I'm sorry."

"I won't hate you for this," Latvia said, smiling a sad smile that looked far too old for a child so pitifully young. "Eddy's hurt me, but I don't hate him. E-even Mr. Russia… Even Panem… I don't want to hate anybody, because I understand that sometimes, in bad circumstances, you have to do things that you wouldn't ever want to do. I understand, Mr. America. Eddy will understand too, later."

America turned back to Estonia, who was watching him, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. America got the feeling that Estonia truly did not understand what was happening, suspected that the terror of being tortured had driven all rationality from the Estonian boy's mind.

"I'm really sorry," he said to Estonia. "I don't want to do it, and I understand if you hate me. Even if you think I'm a worse monster than Russia, that's okay. I m-mean… Maybe I _am_ worse than Russia. After all… Even he couldn't cause the end of the world. And I… I did. I drove Panem to this. I know that now. I know I'm not a hero. I never will be a hero. I… I'm so s-sorry… I didn't mean for this to happen."

He drew a deep breath, looked into Estonia's vacant eyes, and saw there a depth of pain and sorrow that he had never before seen in a human being. And then, hating himself, he moved past Estonia, the pipe still heavy in his hands.

For a moment, he stood behind the Estonian boy, shuddering, hating himself and Panem. But he hated himself the most for this, for the fact that his own idiocy had driven him to this moment.

He raised the pipe high, and then, looking toward the doorway, he saw Latvia begin to cry. As he swung the pipe down, tears came into his own eyes, and he, too, started to cry.

Estonia's scream was the loudest America had ever heard.

* * *

Latvia stood frozen in the doorway, trying desperately not to beg for this to be called off. He was horribly certain that if he did so, then Estonia would be beaten even more with that horrible metal pipe.

The tiny boy whimpered, his scarred hands shaking, and he remembered, with a vivid anguish, what it felt like to be struck with such a heavy pipe, time and time again. He had once been beaten to death with such a weapon, and he remembered the agony of that moment.

And at the first strike, Estonia was already screaming. America was crying, and Latvia had never, never seen someone so strong and confident as America break down in this way. The blond American was actually_ begging_ now, pleading with Panem.

"I c-can't!" America whimpered, staring pleadingly at Panem. "I don't want to hurt him!"

"Well, then," Panem said. "If that's what you really want, Alfred… Which of your friends would you like to lose?"

The girl turned toward the doorway, toward the soldiers behind Latvia, and, without thinking, the boy darted forward, running to Panem and grabbing her hand.

"Let me talk to him!" he begged. "To Mr. America, I mean. Mr. America needs to understand what Eddy did, right? Mr. America needs to understand that he and Eddy both did bad things, and so they both have to be p-punished, right?"

"I know I did something wrong, Raivis!" America sobbed. "I don't want to hurt your brother!"

"Go talk to that pathetic excuse for a hero," Panem said, stroking Latvia's hair. "If anyone can talk some kind of sense into that hysterical wreck, it might be you, my little Raivis."

Latvia, hearing those words, remembered that Russia had often referred to Lithuania as 'little _Litva_'.

_"The monster named Panem is like the monster named Russia, except neither of them are really monsters. They're just sad people, sad people whose childhoods were sad and broken. It's not their faults that they are what they are-or were, I guess, since Mr. Russia is probably dead now. A-and they want someone to cling to… But I… I c-can't be as good as Lithuania. I won't be able to sacrifice myself to s-save Panem."_

But he could, perhaps, save someone else, although Panem was beyond help. And so, he crossed the room, moving past Estonia, whose cries had subsided into sobs.

"Eddy, ssh," he murmured sadly. "You have to take it. I'm r-really sorry… But we don't want anybody to die, right?"

Estonia stared at him, eyes wide, uncomprehending, and Latvia wondered if Estonia's broken mind interpreted his words as a willing betrayal. No matter. He had to keep them all alive. He was going to keep them all alive, even if it meant that his brother, the person he loved most in the world, would suffer. Even if Estonia hated him, he had to be sure that no one else would be killed, least of all Estonia himself.

Estonia alive, even suffering, was so much better than Estonia dead and gone forever. He had to make sure that Estonia and everyone else survived this, and if that was in his power to do, then he must do it, although his brother and America would likely hate him.

"Mr. America…" he murmured, facing the tall boy, seeing tears on America's face, and remembering when the other boy had seemed so strong, so indestructible… Heroic.

And now here they were, Latvia and America, both to blame for the darkness that their world had fallen into.

"I'm as much to blame for what happened to Panem as you are," Latvia said. "N-nobody is going to be able to save her now."

"It's not her that I want to save!" America whimpered, and Latvia nodded sadly.

"I know. But if you don't do this to Eddy, then someone else is going to die. I know you don't want to hurt anybody, Mr. America, but there's no way to avoid someone getting hurt."

"But heroes…"

"Heroes can't always save everybody," Latvia said, and he glanced at Estonia, remembering.

"Sometimes heroes don't do much good at all," he said. "But, see, Mr. America… Right now, you can save somebody's life. Eddy doesn't really realize that right now. But if he did, he would want you to hurt him, because he doesn't want anybody else to get hurt like he has been. He doesn't want any of the others to die for what the three of us have done."

America stared at him, and Latvia reached out to the older boy, his slim, scarred hand barely reaching America's shoulder.

"The greatest heroes are the broken ones," he said, and he saw Estonia's eyes widen in recognition, and knew that this, at least, had gotten through to the Estonian's shattered mind.

"You don't have to be the strongest, or the bravest," he said. "The broken heroes… Tragic heroes… Are the ones that people will remember! Because they're human, Mr. America! You and Eddy are heroes, and you're human! Because you don't always succeed, but you try hard to protect everyone anyways!"

"How am I protecting everyone?" America sobbed. "How, Raivis?! No matter what choice I make, someone will get hurt! I d-don't want that to happen!"

"Sometimes there is no way to save everybody," Latvia said solemnly. "Sometimes you have to choose the path which will save the most lives. You know what you have to do, Mr. America. It will be okay."

America was shaking, and Latvia felt a deep pity for the tall boy, forced to choose between two terrible options.

"Eddy will thank you later," he said quietly. "I'm going to go now… But please, do the right thing, Mr. America. You know what the right thing to do is, don't you?"

Latvia turned away, and as he did so, he glanced back once, to see America still standing alone, the pipe in his hand, staring after him.

"I think I did okay," he said, reaching Panem. "I think he'll do what he's told now. T-thank you for letting me try, Panem."

And then, realizing that he had just furthered Panem's purposes, although it had been with the best of intentions, Latvia began to cry.

"Aw, Raivis…" Panem muttered. "You're such a crybaby."

Her slim hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him to her, and he could not help but wish that her brown hair was shorter, her green eyes warmer. Had this been the case, he might almost have been able to pretend that it was Lithuania holding him, and he would have been comforted.

Panem's body, of course, was shaped differently from Lithuania's, but Latvia so longed for his eldest brother to be there, that he could almost pretend…

Except that Lithuania never looked at him in this way, with this look that Latvia simply did not understand, or, at least, that he did not want to understand. He had once seen Russia look at Lithuania in a similar way, and he thought he knew what that look meant.

Panem wanted him forever, as Russia had wanted Lithuania. Vaguely, Latvia wondered if anyone else knew, if anyone else understood the fact that Panem was rather clearly developing some kind of obsession with him.

Whether or not the others knew did not matter. He belonged to her now, in some way. This scenario had been created just as much to make him do her will as it had been to punish America and Estonia. She wanted him to obey her, wanted him to belong to her.

And the knowledge that he had done exactly what she wanted him to made him cry harder, made him want to pull away from her.

But he had nowhere to run, and if he pulled away, he would have to watch Estonia be tortured. He could already hear the screams, and he could not bear to watch.

And that knowledge made him stay in Panem's arms, although he hated himself for it.

* * *

Estonia was terrified. He could no longer distinguish reality from fiction, could not tell what was happening.

He could only hope that this was a dream. It had to be a dream, it had to be. This could not be happening.

He knew that he was not in Russia, not in the Soviet house, and yet, there was the strike of that painfully familiar metal pipe, unmistakable. He knew what this meant, knew that it must be Russia tormenting him. And yet, he could see Panem standing a short distance away, and he knew that this could not be Russia's house.

He could also hear someone crying, and he did not understand that either, for although he was screaming, that sobbing was not his own, but the cries of someone in a mental agony that almost rivaled his own.

His thin, broken body could not hold up under this abuse forever, and he wanted to escape. He wondered, vaguely, why Latvia would not rescue him. Latvia was supposed to help. Latvia was the only one who could help him now. He knew that it was selfish of him to want the little boy to save him when poor Latvia could barely save himself, but he also knew that everyone else who would once have rescued him was dead.

He could see Latvia, and he saw, feeling utterly betrayed, that the small boy was in Panem's arms.

"Lati… Lati, what are you doing? H-help me…"

His sobs went unheard by Latvia, but not, it seemed, by his unknown tormentor, who paused for a moment. Estonia whimpered softly, his bruised, broken body throbbing with the effects of the abuse.

"P-please let me go…" he whispered. "Please."

"I'm r-really sorry, Estonia."

America's voice. America's voice, from behind him, from the place where the sobbing had originated. So then, America was crying? Was it America who had tortured him, who was torturing him even now?

Agonized, Estonia turned his head, to see America standing behind him. There was the metal pipe, there was the blood-his blood-staining the metal surface. And America held the bloodstained weapon in shaking hands. There were tears running down the American boy's face, and Estonia did not understand, for he had believed that America would never hurt him.

America was supposed to be the hero. America was supposed to be his friend.

"W-why…?" he whispered, turning his head away from America, looking down at the bloodstained floor beneath him. "H-how can you…? I t-thought…"

"I don't have a choice!" America wailed, and Estonia did not understand how this could be. There was always a choice. And America had chosen to torture him.

The metal pipe struck him again, and he screamed, crying out in pain and utter betrayal.

"I t-thought you were supposed to be the hero," he whimpered. "H-how can you do this to me? W-what kind of a liar are you? Y-you said you were the h-hero… You lied…"

* * *

America froze, Estonia's words resounding in his head.

_"You were supposed to be the hero…"_

The metal pipe fell from his hands onto the floor, and America buried his head in his hands, no longer able to withstand the mental agony of torturing someone he cared for, someone whose older brother he had loved. He had tortured a child whom he had sworn to protect.

_"I was supposed to protect him… I was gonna protect all of them… But now… Now I've hurt Estonia worse… I…I failed again. I couldn't stop when I destroyed Panem; I had to destroy everyone else with my stupid mistakes. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, everyone… I failed."_

"My, my," Panem said. "Even Estonia sees you for what you are. And do you see, Alfred? Do you see what a worthless failure you are?"

He looked up at her, tears running down his face, and knew that she was right. Despite her murderous intentions, despite her madness, Panem was right.

He was worthless. He had failed.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I never meant for this to happen. I… I can't…"

"Oh, shut up," Panem said. "That will be all for today. Eduard looks as if he's about to pass out, and we don't want that to happen. We don't want him to fall unconscious or die, do we, little Raivis?"

Latvia moaned quietly, shaking his head.

"No, we don't want that to happen," he murmured, his voice subdued and broken.

_"Was this how he acted…when he was with Russia? Poor kid… These guys have already been through too much, and now… They're getting hurt because of what I did. How could I have been so stupid?"_

Latvia raised his head, smiling sadly at America, who could only stare at the small boy, tears running down his face. There were tears in Latvia's eyes, too, but they were silent tears, not like America's, which were impossible to conceal.

"Thank you, Mr. America," Latvia said, a catch in his voice. "Thank you for listening to me. Now nobody will die… Not today."

America turned away, unable to speak to Latvia, and went to Estonia, who still knelt on the floor, his eyes half closed.

"Hey, buddy," America said softly. "You got any idea how we unlock these things?"

Estonia's eyes snapped open, wide and fearful, and then, America saw the blond Baltic's gaze sharpen, his eyes narrowing.

"Get away from me!" Estonia spat. "Get away and don't ever speak to me again! You hurt me! I won't trust you anymore, so get away!"

America stood frozen, staring at Estonia, and it was then that Latvia slipped between them. The tiny boy's violet eyes had a sorrowful concern in them, and he knelt in front of Estonia, wrapping his arms around the taller blond.

"He's not okay," Latvia said. "Not right now. You should go back to your cell now, Mr. America. Eddy will be okay later, but he's hurting right now, so you should probably go. I'll take care of Eddy."

For as long as he lived, America would never forget the betrayal in Estonia's eyes, the agony in his voice. And he could do nothing to reverse that pain, could not erase what he had done to Estonia. He did not know if Estonia would ever realize that he had not wanted to hurt anyone, nor did he believe that he deserved to be forgiven for his actions.

After all, with his childish stupidity, he had doomed them all. He deserved their hatred.

He knew this, but even so, he had to fight back tears as the guards escorted him back down the corridor, back to the prison cell where England awaited him.

He could feel the weight of the pipe in his hand, could still hear the echo of Estonia's shrieks in his mind.

For the first time, America truly knew what it meant to be a monster.

* * *

**World's. Longest. Torture. Scene!**

**That's it. That's the summary of this chapter. **

**I love how the status updates weren't part of the plot, but the ANs were gigantic. Now the plot has returned, and I have nothing to say. **

**Oh, totally unrelated note! Some of the Baltics writers on this site have started a forum for... Well, Baltics writers. So, if you like the Baltics, head on over and check it out! Everybody's welcome! (I think. Hinotori-hime will correct me if everyone is not welcome, for she has been proclaimed the leader. But I think everyone is welcome!) Anyways, there is not a link on my profile at this moment, but after I finish typing this, I will put the link there! **

**So... I will stop rambling on now. I hope you've enjoyed this...err...overly angsty chapter. **


	24. Shattered Ones

Chapter Twenty-Four: Shattered Ones

For as long as he had known of Estonia's insanity, Latvia had kept himself from believing that his older brother's sanity might one day become completely irreparable.

He had known, of course, deep inside, that someday, Estonia would completely succumb to his demons, but he had denied it, not wanting to believe that such a thing was possible. He had denied it childishly, because he could not bear to lose his brother, to watch Estonia go fully mad.

And now, he thought, he was seeing it. This most recent torture had broken Estonia, or, at least, had scarred him deeply. The bespectacled Baltic lay silent on the bed, shivering, his eyes distant and agonized. He was crying, which would not have been so disturbing had not his tears been utterly silent. Estonia was not one to cry silently.

And Latvia had never seen such agonized dullness in his brother's eyes before. It terrified him, and he missed the light in those eyes, even if that light had often been one of utter insanity. That insanity had been better than this, for, at least, Latvia had known that there was still some part of Eduard von Bock locked inside of the tormented boy who was Estonia. He had been able to hear that in Estonia's voice, had seen it in his brother's every tortured movement.

Estonia's insanity had been born from a twisted fear, one which Latvia understood well. When Estonia's fear drove him to insanity, Latvia could still almost recognize his brother, locked away inside his own mind, overthrown by madness.

But looking into Estonia's dead eyes, watching his friend tremble and cry silently, Latvia did not see his Eduard there. He saw himself, and he did not like it. He did not like the thought that Estonia was becoming what he had been in the Soviet era, a shivering, terrified creature who would do anything to avoid being harmed.

Estonia was supposed to be brave. Estonia was supposed to protect him, Latvia. Estonia was not supposed to be this shaking, terrified creature with wide, frightened eyes.

That was supposed to be Latvia. And now he, the coward named Latvia, could only watch as the person he loved the most suffered, falling deeper into a dark, agonized insanity.

Latvia was sitting on the edge of Estonia's bed, watching the older boy, staring into his brother's dead eyes and willing the light to come back. The light did not come, and he reached out to Estonia, stroking his brother's hair, and gaining no reaction. Estonia, it seemed, was beyond human reach now, and Latvia, watching, wondered how his brother had fallen this far, and he came to the realization that Estonia's fall into insanity and sorrow had been his doing.

"It was that day… Wasn't it, Eddy?" he asked, quietly.

_"Maybe I was finally smart enough to speak up against an insane tyrant!"_

"You shouldn't have said that to him," Latvia said, his gaze unfocused, his mind having been transported to a mansion in the cold of Soviet Russia. He could see it in his mind; Estonia on the ground, glaring at Russia, and Russia holding that cruel, blood-stained faucet pipe in his hand. And then he left the room. He left the room, and in doing so, he condemned Estonia to a lifetime of torment and fear.

He wondered if Estonia was remembering that day, too. He wondered if the reason for the vacancy in his brother's eyes was because Estonia was reliving that same distant memory. He wondered if Estonia would ever wake up, and he wondered if his brother would hate him if he ever did awake. He was afraid of being hated by Estonia, who he cared for deeply.

And yet it was his fault that Estonia was like this now.

"If I hadn't been so stupid, you would still be sane," he managed, tears coming into his eyes as he watched Estonia, who was still staring straight ahead, his eyes blank, vacant, dead. "If I hadn't left you, you would be sane. It's my fault for being stupid."

He bowed his head, tears falling from his wide violet eyes, dark with remorse and pain.

"I know it was my fault," he said. "But… I can't remember what I did that day, Eddy. I don't know what I did to make Russia mad. I just know that… That it was my fault. You came to help me. I don't think I screamed. I just remember… I remember… Y-you were scared. You were so scared… You dropped the tray with all the breakfast dishes, a-and… W-where was Toris? I don't remember… I don't understand why this happened! I was the one who made Russia angry. B-but you and Toris… You were the ones who got broken because of Russia's anger. Even though I made him angry, you guys had to pay for it, and… It's n-not fair!"

Estonia said nothing, but Latvia could see his brother shaking, shaking, shaking, and he wondered if the poor Estonian would stay like this forever. He was not sure he could bear it if Estonia never spoke to him again. Estonia had said nothing since his last bitter words to America. Latvia could not blame Estonia for saying such a thing to America, although he knew that America himself likely would not be able to bear the knowledge that Estonia was afraid of him, that Estonia hated him.

"I'm sorry," Latvia whispered, and then, not really knowing why, he reached over to Estonia, and removed the older boy's glasses.

"You need to sleep," he murmured. "If you sleep, maybe when you wake up all the monsters inside your head will be gone."

Estonia said nothing, and Latvia started to fear that his brother was truly gone, irreparable and irreplaceable.

"It was my fault that you got hurt that day," he said. "So it's not me who should be sane now. I should have gone insane, Eduard. You shouldn't ever have had to get hurt, not for me. You and Toris… You sacrificed too much for me. It's not fair. Just because I'm younger than you, you gave up everything."

He was _so tired_ of Estonia's vacant stare, and so he lay down, curled up close to his brother, wondering if having him there might possibly convince the Estonian boy to just wake up from whatever memory or fantasy had trapped him inside his own mind.

"I s-should be the one dying, now," he said to Estonia. "I should be the one who's hurting, who's insane. B-because… You know, all of it is my fault. All of this… Your pain and Toris' and…"

He began to cry, sobbing loudly and childishly, in a manner which he had not adopted for years.

"And Panem's hurt too!" he wailed, anguished and alone and fully understanding now why it was that Estonia and Panem hated to be alone. It was horrible, and yet, he knew he deserved it, for he had condemned them both to loneliness, and he had played a part in sending Lithuania spiraling into inescapable depression.

Perhaps Lithuania would not have been driven to attempt suicide had he not seen his baby brother sitting on a countertop at midnight, drinking straight from a bottle of stolen vodka.

And maybe the times that Lithuania had been abused for Latvia's sake had been what had broken him. Maybe Lithuania could have stood it, had the torture been a little less severe.

Whatever the case, Latvia had no one to blame but himself.

"It's my fault all of you are hurting, Eddy, because you and Panem at least, I could have saved! M-maybe not Toris… I don't think anyone could have saved Toris, not even Ms. Belarus, and Toris loved her… B-but I could have saved you, Eddy. You and Panem were the people I had a chance to s-save… And I didn't do it. I was a coward. I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry… For all of this… I'm as much to blame for what's happened here as Panem is, as Mr. America is… I'm the one that you should blame for your insanity, Eddy. Don't blame yourself. Please blame me. I can t-take it… I can take the blame…"

"No… You can't, Raivis."

Latvia barely registered Estonia's words. He knew only that his brother had spoken, that Estonia was awake, alive, that he would not be left completely alone yet. He knew only that the vacant shell of what had been his older brother still retained some life, although it was a sad, fading life, one full of sorrow and pain.

"Eddy…" he whispered, smiling softly as the tears ran down his face. "You're…you're still alive."

* * *

Estonia wanted to go to sleep, and he wanted to know that it would be the last time he would fall asleep, that he would never wake again. He had withdrawn into his mind for a time, trying to see if his body would shut down of its own accord, but it had been for nothing, although he had nearly succeeded in sealing himself into the dark abyss of his mind, never to wake again.

And in that darkness that was close to death, he had heard a child's voice, which blamed itself for the ruin which had fallen on the world they lived in, a world which, while painfully dark and solemn, was too great a world for one child to have brought down alone.

He had brought himself out of the darkness, only to tell a lonely child that one little boy could not have brought about the world's destruction.

"You can't take the blame, Raivis," he said, very quietly. "Taking the blame is the one thing that will destroy you. And you're the strongest of us. The smartest too, and… And if Toris is dead, then you are also the kindest. You are kind and strong and smart, and you did not cause the world's destruction."

"Look at me, silly Eddy," Latvia said, and Estonia could hear tears in his brother's voice. "I'm not strong. I'm four foot seven inches tall, and I shake all the…"

"You haven't been shaking nearly as much as I have," Estonia said. "Not in this place."

"But, I…"

"Raivis," Estonia said, feeling his little brother curl into a tighter ball next to him, "I want you to listen to me. You know I don't have much longer here, don't you? One day… One day, I'm not going to wake up in the morning. Or maybe… I'll go to sleep during a torture session… And when that torture is over, I'll be gone. You have to know that, Raivis. I… I wanted to protect you from that… But it's inevitable now. We both know… I'm going to die soon."

"No, you're not!" Latvia was sobbing harder now; Estonia could hear it in his voice. "I'm gonna save you… I'll find a way…"

"You can't, Raivis, and that's the point," Estonia said softly. "You're smart enough to realize… What is broken cannot always be fixed."

"But you can be!" Latvia whimpered. "I'll fix you!"

"Don't!" Estonia whispered. "Don't become like Toris. Please, Raivis. You know what happened to Toris, don't you? Not when he died. Before…?"

"Yeah," Latvia said. "He…he tried to commit suicide. He was hurting himself _all the time_. I didn't understand why."

"It was because he thought that he could save us," Estonia said. "And he failed, Raivis. He failed to save all of the people that he tried very, very hard for. Do you understand?"

"Eduard," Latvia said, and Estonia flinched, worried by the fact that he was suddenly Eduard, not Eddy.

"I'm not a little kid anymore," Latvia murmured, and Estonia sighed, draping one arm over his little brother.

"I know, Lati," he said. "I know. Neither am I."

"You think being like Toris will destroy me, don't you?" Latvia said, and Estonia choked back an anguished sob.

_"He's already so much like Toris, almost without trying, while I… I spent so long trying to be Toris, only to be destroyed. I know now… Not even Toris should have to…to take on such heavy burdens. That doesn't mean that I'll stop trying to be like him. It's already too late for me, so why should I back down now? I'll never back down. I… There is no longer any way that I can walk out of this place alive and sane. I know that, so there's no point in me trying to preserve my own life. I'd much rather die saving Raivis than sit there and cower as he's destroyed. Because Raivis… Raivis can still be saved, even if I cannot. Raivis does not have to become like Toris was. I can still save him."_

"Yes, Raivis," he whispered. "It will destroy you, and I don't want that. I want you to be a child again. I don't want you to be the strongest one here, because you shouldn't have to be."

"But I am the strong one now, Eddy," Latvia said. "Nothing you can do or say is going to change that. It was torture that broke Toris. Torture and cruel words broke you… And it was the loneliness, the loneliness that was supposed to be _your _nightmare… _That _led to Panem's insanity, _that_ led us to where we are now. And I know all that. I know how you were broken, and I'm not going to break. I m-made a promise to Eirikur that I would take care of him, so I can't allow myself to be broken!"

"Eirikur…?" Estonia echoed, and Latvia sighed.

"Iceland. He… He r-reminds me of you and Toris, so…"

"Raivis!" Estonia snapped. "Stop!"

He felt Latvia stiffen, and he knew that he had frightened the little boy.

"Stop trying to play hero," he said. "Look… Look what that did to Toris. Look what it did to me, and… And America."

He choked out the last two words, wincing, desperately resisting the impulse to withdraw back into the darkness, away from the pain and from the knowledge that America, supposed hero, had tortured him.

"All of this is as much my fault as his," Latvia said, and he sounded so extremely calm amidst his sadness that Estonia sat up and stared at Latvia, to see the little boy smiling up at him.

He began to wonder if Latvia might be an angel in disguise. The boy was certainly kind enough, gentle enough, to be an angel.

_"And so was Toris. And what am I? A fallen angel? No… No. Like the monsters inside my head, I think… I am a demon. A demon whose days are numbered."_

"Give it up, Raivis," he whispered, reaching down and lifting the little boy onto his lap, embracing the child who was the only reason he still wanted to live at all. "The last thing I want is to have to die knowing that you've fallen into the same sorrow that Toris and I did. You don't want to be like us, Lati. Believe me… It hurts too much, this insanity. You may think that saving someone else is worth the sacrifice, but… Y-you'll think differently later on. So don't sacrifice yourself, not in this place."

"Why not?" Latvia asked. "You did. You sacrificed yourself here, Eddy. Why shouldn't I?"

Estonia sighed, and turned his gaze to the ceiling, wondering if angels did exist. If they did, and if Lithuania had been one, then surely, his older brother was watching over them now. Estonia wished that if both his brothers were angels, that the angel who had fallen into sorrow-Lithuania-would guard the innocent, tiny angel known to them as the personification of Latvia.

Even if Latvia himself were an angel, he was a very small one, one in need of a protector. A demon was hardly such a protector, but if all of this was merely a very odd analogy conjured up by Estonia's mind, then…

A broken human, tattered and insane, was surely better than no guardian at all.

"I sacrificed myself long before we reached this place, Raivis," he said quietly.

_"You are just the third wheel, useless Estonia. They will leave you behind."_

"Try to understand… The monsters inside my head were born a long time ago. If they were going to leave, they would have done so by now. They've existed for a long time, Raivis. I… _I've_ existed for too long. My sacrifice was made long before Panem ever existed. It makes no difference whether or not I sacrifice myself now…"

He smiled sadly, and he felt tears running down his face. In his arms, Latvia was sobbing.

"The sacrifice I made in the beginning was irreversible. You cannot save me, Raivis. I… I will die here."

* * *

There was blood on America's clothes, and that was all that England knew for the first three hours that they sat there after America's return.

He had nearly asked America what had happened. In fact, several times, he had spoken his brother's name, only to see America glance at him pleadingly, only to see an anguish in his brother's eyes that he had never seen before. Something terrible had happened, and America did not want to speak of it.

Then, finally, after around two hours of waiting, England decided that he would tell America that the boy was not alone, and that he, England, would be there when America wanted to talk.

"Alfie… If you want to talk about it… I'll listen. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, understand? I don't mind not knowing."

But he did mind, and he needed to know if the bloodstains on America's clothes were the boy's own blood…or someone else's.

He noticed during what might have been the third hour that there was blood on America's hands and face, too, and his worry intensified. America might be bleeding to death… But there was no shame in that, and very little sorrow, England thought, for such a broken boy, already shattered by the terrors of this place.

America might well welcome death as a release from the crimes he believed himself to have committed.

But here America was, broken and sobbing, and so England could only assume that the blood staining America's clothes did not actually belong to the boy, but to someone else.

And if it was not America's blood, then whose was it?

After a very, very long time, America spoke.

"I'm the same as Russia, aren't I, Arthur?"

The use of his own human name was what alerted England to the seriousness of America's question. It was only at very serious moments that America called him Arthur, and not Iggy or one of his other seemingly endless supply of nicknames.

"No, Alfred," he said. "You're nothing like Russia, because you understand that you…"

"Russia also knows what he did, now that it's too late!" America snapped. "He's sane again, remember? He's able to understand it now. I… I'm asking if what I did to Panem is the same as what Russia did to the Baltics… To Estonia."

"Why Estonia, in particular?" England asked, slightly confused by the question. He had heard the rumors, he knew the rumors, but surely they were not true.

And yet there had been something distinctively off with Estonia in the past couple of days, when the boy had appeared bearing food. There had been something in his eyes…

"Because Panem and Estonia are both insane," America choked. "And I want to know if it's my fault that Panem is the way she is. I mean, I know it's my fault, but… I want to know if I'm as bad as Russia was!"

England paused for a long moment, trying to find an answer that would not shatter America. He could not release the boy from wrong, for America had done a great wrong, one that could, perhaps, never be set right. And yet, Russia had committed a far greater crime than America had. For America had, with the obliviousness of a child, ignored another child, and caused her to lose her mind. This had been a mistake that could have been made by any human being, and… And America was not insane. He was merely a child, and he would never have hurt Panem had he only understood that his neglect was going to hurt her.

And Russia, also a childish person… His actions had been those of one who was truly insane. Russia had beaten and abused living, breathing, innocent people, and three children in particular. A sane person would have known better, but Russia had not been sane, and Russia had not understood that his torture was going to break the Baltics. He had not understood, and so three children had fallen, each into his own type of insanity or sorrow.

"You are not like Russia, Alfie," England said at last. "Russia abused and practically murdered the Baltics. A sane person would have known better than that. It was your childishness that sealed Panem's fate, that I will grant. But you never abused her, Alfred. You would never have lifted a hand against her, would you?"

"She was a kid," America choked. "Of course I wouldn't have. I mean… Not then. Maybe now I would."

"Then you are not like Russia," England said. "You may have made a mistake, and that mistake may have caused insanity in Panem… But you did not willingly abuse her. And Russia did abuse the Baltics. That is the difference between you."

"And what if…if I suddenly became the one holding one of those pipes that Russia always carried around?" America whispered. "What if I was the one beating one of those kids? Would that make me a monster?"

England blinked, startled by the question, and America looked up at him, terrible agony in his eyes.

"She made me beat Estonia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't have a choice. She was going to kill Belarus o-or someone else… I…"

England cursed Panem, cursed her for destroying their world and for driving his brother to choose between two equally terrible options. Then he reached out to America, who was sobbing quietly.

"You made the right choice, Alfie," he said. "Estonia… Estonia will survive."

"He hates me," America whimpered. "He said he hated me, and he said that he's not going to trust me anymore."

"Alfred…"

There was nothing that England could say that would erase what Estonia had said, nothing he could do that would release America from his pain.

And he could not reverse the clock, not even at the cost of his own life. He could not save these broken children from the terror and insanity that so haunted them.

He could not save them all from this prison, from Panem.

And so he could only sit there, useless, beaten, with scars on his back and bandages on his maimed hand.

All that he could do to help America was to hold the boy as he cried. And he knew that even if they did somehow escape this place, none of them would ever recover from this torment.

They would never forget. Their scars would remind them. And so would their nightmares.

* * *

China awoke at some point in the long, painful day to find that his cell was no longer silent. There was a low, whining hum in the background, and it hurt his ears. It was quiet at first, but it was always there, never fading out. It was always there, and it was very clearly not going away.

He began to pace his cell, trying to ignore the humming noise, which he was certain was growing louder. It seemed to be growing louder by the minute, and he wondered if he was finally going insane, if he was merely imagining this noise in his insanity.

He did not think that this was the case. But the noise was fraying at his nerves, and it was most definitely getting louder.

"What is this, aru?" he muttered, annoyed by the noise and frightened by the prospect of eventually going deaf if the noise continued to increase in volume. "What is she trying to do to me?"

All through the remainder of the long day, China paced back and forth in his cell, trying to ignore the noise in his ears. He thought of his family, he wondered if Japan was still alive somewhere. He wondered if there was anyone alive other than those nations who were trapped here, in this prison.

He wondered if this might not all be a dream, a nightmare, one that he could eventually awake from. He knew that it was not, of course, but that thought gave him hope that one day the cell door would open, the pain would end, and he would be able to go back to living a life that, while far from normal, at least had some semblance of humanity in it.

Deprived of food, short of water… This was no existence. This was plain and simple torture, and he clung to the hope of surviving it until its end. He clung to the prospect of escape. He had to escape. He had to get out, and he had to find a way to get Estonia, Latvia, Belarus, and anyone else who might be imprisoned here out too.

He had to find a way to help them. They were children, and he could not let them die here. He could not let any more children die. He had failed his family, and he had failed Lithuania, too. He could not fail again.

He did not realize what the humming noise was until somewhere in what might have been the middle of the night. He had curled up, fidgeting anxiously, unnerved by the constant noise. He had covered his ears, finally, curled up tighter, managed to fall into a restless sleep, one pervaded by nightmares of death and torture. If his family did appear in his dreams, it was not to comfort him. Any comfort he expected quickly turned to horror, to blood, to murder, whether it be his own death or his siblings', or the demise of someone else he held dear.

And then he was awakened by a high-pitched wailing, a sound that hurt his ears and seemed to threaten to deafen him completely.

China did not know where the noise had come from, and he did not know why it had come. He only knew that it hurt his ears, that it was deafening, and he curled up tighter, hands over his ears.

He did not realize he was crying until what felt like an eternity later, until the wailing stopped, replaced again by that humming, which had indeed grown louder while he slept.

He lay on the floor, his eyes tightly shut, and he could not hear his own whimpers. He did not know that he was whimpering until he felt a girl's cold hand on his arm.

"Is it that bad? I thought you were strong, China. But no. You've let yourself cry."

Panem's voice sounded as if it were very far away, and China's ears were still ringing. His head hurt, too, and he did not want to listen to Panem. He did not want to believe that he was crying, that she had seen him crying.

He was too old for this, he decided, too old and tired to even try to argue with Panem now.

"Do you know why that loud noise happened, China?" Panem asked, her tone suggesting that she was talking to a very small child. "Do you know what you did?"

He said nothing. He could not say anything. He could feel tears on his cheeks, yet he was almost too weak to wipe the tears away. How many days had it been? How many days without food, with only a little water, with only Estonia for the occasional distraction from his torment?

It hurt. His head hurt, his throat was dry, his stomach ached, and he felt weak, weaker than he had felt in a long time, and that scared him.

"Don't ever fall asleep again," Panem said. "I'll give you an hour each time you fall asleep… But after that hour, you get to hear that loud noise again. You don't want that, do you, China?"

He did not want it, and he hated how weak he was now, hated the fact that he could not seem to stop himself from crying, could not wipe the tears away. He was tired and weak, and if he dared to fall asleep, then Panem would surely torture him.

He wished she would beat him. He could take that, he thought; he could take anything but this darkness and hunger. And there was this new torture to consider. Now, he would not even be allowed to sleep, or, at least, he would be punished for sleeping.

Eventually, Panem grew tired of him, and she left, leaving China alone. He still lay on the cold floor, trying to muster his strength, and finding that he could not.

_"I have become so weak… Why… Can't I move? I'm so thirsty... Estonia will come in the morning. I must stay awake until morning… I must stay awake… I… I am so tired…"_

* * *

**Hey, guys! So... This has been a chapter, largely transitional, but important nonetheless. **

**Two amusing facts: A) the song I took the chapter title from, "Shattered" by Trading Yesterday, is playing right now. I did not plan that. B) While I was writing China's scene, my brother decided to sharpen ALL his pencils with the electric pencil sharpener, which is right next to me, and is really loud. I got some idea of what poor China is experiencing, and let me tell you, if the pencil sharpener gave me a headache, I can only imagine how China feels. **

**Um. I can't think of anything to say here. So, yeah. Bye-bye... **


	25. Keep Breathing

Chapter Twenty-Five: Keep Breathing

It was morning, and Lithuania stood alone in the kitchen, his hand on the handle of the knife drawer.

He had snuck out of bed-Russia's bed, which he had been forcibly removed to at his refusal to be locked into his own room. He would never allow himself to locked in again, but he had also not wanted to share a tiny bed with Russia. Oddly, the tall Russian had decided to sleep on the floor, and that surprised Lithuania. He would not have expected Russia to do something so selfless as to give someone else his bed.

"But I would not have expected myself to do something so selfish as this," he whispered, opening the drawer, reaching for a knife. "And yet I am still doing it. The roles have been reversed, and I will _not _let him fall the way I did."

"You really think that this will help me, Toris?"

He froze, hand still on the knife. With his back turned, it was nearly impossible to remember that this was not the Soviet era, that Russia would never again hurt him as he once had. He was terrified, and he pulled the knife from the drawer, whirling to face Russia. He was trembling, and the Russian standing in the doorway looked as if he was reliving a near-forgotten nightmare.

"The last time someone pointed a knife at me, you saved my life," Russia said. "You… You would not kill me, would you?"

Lithuania did not want to remember. He had no choice. He could never forget. It had hurt. He had already been hurt, and that stabbing had hurt more. He had not regretted it then; he did not regret it now. But…it had hurt.

_"No killing… Please… I hate it when people get hurt… When they die… The only person who needs to die…is me. Because…I don't want to live…anymore."_

He remembered his own words, choked out in agony before he fell dead, and he realized something then.

_"I have wanted to die for a very, very long time. I truly cannot get better. I am going to feel like this forever."_

The knife fell from his hand, and, skidding across the floor, landed at Russia's feet. Lithuania sank to his knees, sobbing.

_"I will never get better… I cannot get better… I will feel like this until I die…"_

He had always know that he could not recover, but to realize that he had felt like this for so long only proved what he had already known, brought that knowledge to the forefront of his mind. He could not overcome this sorrow. He was simply not strong enough for that, not anymore. But he had always tried to hold onto a faint hope, to a wish that he could get better. Even as he slit his wrists and waited to die, he had felt some regret. He had almost believed that he might be allowed to get better when Russia saved his life.

And now he knew, with horrible certainty, that it was never going to happen. He would not recover, for the world could only grow darker from here. The world as he had remembered it was gone, broken, erased. It could never come back.

And so too had his sanity and self-esteem been erased. It too would never return, and he must either live with his pain, or die.

"_Litva_…"

He did not struggle when Russia knelt next to him, embraced him. He was still afraid, for all of the things he had tried so hard to forget had been triggered, and with those memories had come his fear of Russia, who had once hurt him terribly. But he also knew that this was a Russia who would not hurt him, a Russia who would protect him. He was aware of the role reversal, and he could not pull away. Even his fear was not enough to make him abandon the only comfort left to him.

It was ironic that he was comforted by the embrace of the man who had once tormented him, but he tried desperately not to think about it. He could not hurt Russia again, not now. He had already hurt the man far too much, and he must not do it again.

"You can get better, my little Toris, if you only believe that you can," Russia murmured, and Lithuania's head snapped up.

He was angry now. He was angry with childish Russia, who did not understand, and he was angry that he, who had broken and simply _could not_ take the strain of existing, had to explain his feelings to a man who ought to understand them.

"No, Ivan, I cannot, and that is the point!"

Russia blinked at him, and he started to sob again, clinging to the Russian man and apologizing between sobs.

"I'm sorry… I can't… I can't even_ breathe_ on my own anymore. It hurts. I'm sorry, Ivan. I can't do this. I can't live and I can't breathe and I can never feel better!"

There was a long, long silence, broken only by the sound of his own sobs.

"I know you cannot, Toris."

He could hear the tears in Russia's voice, and he knew that he should not have said such a thing. He should have allowed Russia to cling to the hope that they would survive, that he, Lithuania, would be able to pull himself together one day.

He had crushed that hope, that fragile hope that might possibly have been the one thing keeping Russia from despair. He had done this. And that was one more reason that he deserved to die.

"I know our world is not coming back," Russia said, sobbing. "I know that, _Litva_. I am not so much a child that I can ignore what is happening in our world, that I can pretend that it has not all been destroyed. I am not that naïve. I have seen bad things too, Toris! I… I have wanted to die, too."

Lithuania froze.

_"Of course he has depression. Of course he does; we all knew he would. He realized what he'd done. He has to live with that, so of course it's horrible. But… Russia…"_

"You can't want that," he said, not thinking. "You're a child. Children aren't supposed to think that way."

"But children do think that way," Russia said, and there was no hurt in his voice, no anger at being called a child. "I know that I am childish, Toris, but I have also seen many bad things, and it has been very painful for me. And… It is not only things that I have seen… But things I have done. I have done things that had very much badness, and they have done things to other people. I am the reason that you have sadness now. I know that, and it is hurting. I could have been avoiding it, but…"

Lithuania noticed vaguely that Russia's accent was manifesting itself like never before, and he wondered if this was because of how upset the man was now. And he once again felt guilty for causing Russia pain.

"But I did not avoid it. I could not do so. I did not choose to be who I am. You did not choose to be who you are either, did you, Toris?"

He remembered when he had vowed to take care of his brothers at all costs, and wondered if he had realized, then, what it was that he was getting into. He did not know. He knew only that he was in pain, now, that he would never have sacrificed himself had he known that he would have to pay this terrible, brutal price.

"No," he whispered.

"It is the same with me," Russia said. "I did not want to be a bad person, a cruel and insane person. But I woke one day to find that that was what I had become. You, little Toris, never wanted to break. You were going to be strong, to stop others from breaking. But because of what I did to you, you were first driven to put a gun to your head. The rest of this followed, and it was my doing. I know that. I cannot be forgetting. I… If I could be dying, and making it better for you, safer for you… I would do that. But I am not so very brave, not like you, Toris. I cannot stand to be in pain. It frightens me. If it did not frighten me so, then I would not be here, and you would not have to be worrying about whether or not I would be sad if you, too, were to close your eyes and not open them again."

"I don't want you to die," Lithuania said, and he knew that it was he who sounded like a child, now.

"I will not die as long as you are here!" Russia announced, and, looking up, Lithuania saw a soft, sad smile on the tall man's face.

"I am going to protect you until you cannot be protected anymore," Russia said. "You are my friend, so until your dying, I will stay here with you. I am scared of dying, but I am more frightened of being alone. When you have gone, then perhaps I will not mind the pain of dying. But until the day I am alone again… Until that day, Toris, I will not think of my own dying. I have been alone, and so it would be cruel of me to be leaving you alone in your sadness. So do not leave me alone, my _Litva_, and I promise that I will not leave this world. It is selfish of me, to force you to live like this when I know that you do not want me to. But… Please, stay alive for me. I do not want you to die, and I do not want myself to die. So please do not die. I am a selfish person, and I do not want to be alone. So stay here with me, Toris. _Please_."

* * *

America had been dreading the prospect of food ever since he had awoken. He knew Estonia would come with the food, knew that he was going to have to see the blond boy, who was probably terrified of him, or worse, hated him.

He did not want to see Estonia, but he did want to apologize.

And so when the Estonian boy entered the cell, carrying food and water in his trembling hands, America tried to gather his courage, staring desperately at the shaking Baltic, and wondering when Estonia and Latvia had traded places. Estonia shook all the time now, and Latvia barely shook at all.

He waited until Estonia set the food down, noticing how far away the Estonian stayed from him. He waited until Estonia turned away, until the boy was almost at the door. Then, unable to bear it any longer, he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Estonia," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm really sorry. I didn't..."

"I know."

Estonia's voice was trembling, too, but at least the hatred was absent. America could not have stood it had Estonia spoken to him with such hatred again. It would have been too horrible; he could not cope with that hatred. Not from Lithuania's brother. Not from a little boy whom he had wanted to protect, and whom he had failed to save.

"I know you didn't mean it," Estonia said. "But I don't trust you."

America bit his lip, hard, trying to keep himself from crying out, from protesting.

_"Of course he doesn't trust me. I said I was the hero; I was going to protect him, and then… Then I beat him, tortured him the way Russia used to. Of course he doesn't trust me."_

"Try to understand, America," Estonia said. "I don't even trust myself. I don't trust myself, and I don't trust my own family. Latvia has_ never_ hurt me physically, but I can't trust him either. I know you didn't want to hurt me. I understand being forced to do things. I know how horrible it is. But that doesn't change the fact that you were there holding the pipe and beating me. Maybe I can let go of that, but there are monsters inside my head, monsters that I hope you never understand. Those monsters won't let go of what you did to me. And as long as those monsters live in my head, I can't forgive you, either. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," America choked, trying not to cry.

"No," Estonia said, and America could hear tears in his voice. "It is. I'm weak. I've always been weak; that's why I'm the one with the demon voices in my head. It _is_ my fault. A great many things could have been averted if I had never gone insane. Maybe this prison would still exist. Maybe all of us would still be here. But Raivis wouldn't be to blame for Panem's insanity, if I hadn't lost my mind. Because then he would never have known about insanity. He would never have been able to hate himself for not seeing the warning signs. And if I were not insane, we could have gotten Toris out of the Soviet house before Russia broke him. A great many things would never have happened if I were sane."

Estonia turned to look at America. The fear was still in his eyes, but sorrowful tears were overwhelming it, and the broken smile on his face made the fear seem nonexistent.

"Don't ever go insane, Alfred F. Jones. It will hurt others far more than it can ever hurt you. Anyone sane would realize fully that what you did, beating me, was not your fault. But the monsters in my head won't let me forgive you. So my insanity has hurt even you."

Before America could reply, before he could even open his mouth, Estonia was gone. And then America's tears began to fall, for he had failed once again.

"Alfie…"

"I want to save him, Iggs," America choked. "I _need_ to save him. He's just a kid."

"I know," England said, and America could feel his brother rubbing his back, although England's touch did nothing to counteract the pain the young American felt.

"I want to save him too, Alfred," England said. "I want to save all of them. But… I'm not sure Estonia _can_ be saved. You need to accept that possibility, Alfie. You need to accept the fact that he may well be further gone than Panem is. I need you to accept that… So that if he dies, you won't blame yourself. You have to understand that some people cannot be saved. You have to consider the possibility. Otherwise, your failure to save others will destroy you the way it did Lithuania. You don't want that, do you?"

"I'd give _anything_ to be like Lithuania," America said. "To save people. But… But I don't want to end up like him. I j-just don't want to watch everyone die… And I don't want to know that I might have been able to save them. I don't want to give up. Giving up would be worse than failing. Because then, I wouldn't even have the comfort of knowing that I tried."

* * *

Estonia heard a buzzing noise when he entered China's cell, and he stiffened, trying to discern what the noise might be. But then he saw China, lying still on the floor, and he decided that the buzzing did not matter. He went to China, lifted the now extremely frail man's head. He was not sure if China was even alive, but he held the glass of water to the Chinese man's lips, hoping that China would wake up.

_"It will feel almost like it did losing Toris…if China dies. I don't want to lose someone who cares about me. Someone who wants to protect me, who doesn't hurt me. I don't want to lose that person."_

China coughed feebly, and Estonia smiled a little, relief flooding his body.

_"China has never hurt me. The monsters think China is safe. So as long as he does not die… One person, at least, is safe."_

He knew his thoughts were not sane, knew that they made no sense, but it was so nice to have someone who was safe, someone that even the voices in his head believed was safe. It was wonderful. He loved that feeling of safety. He wished that he could feel it always.

"Estonia," China rasped. "You're the smart Baltic, aren't you, aru?"

"Not anymore," Estonia said. "But I know a lot. What is it?"

"How many more days until I die?" China asked quietly, and Estonia stiffened.

_"No, no, don't talk about death, don't die, not like Toris, please…"_

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't ever ask me that, please."

"I'm sorry, aru," China said. "I need to know."

"I don't know!" Estonia choked. "Don't ask me!"

_"Three weeks? I think it's three weeks you can survive without food, but how much water do you have to drink to survive that long? One glass every two days isn't enough. He'll die…"_

"You think it will be soon, don't you?" China asked.

"S-stop it..." Estonia was not only speaking to China, but to his own mind.

_"He wants to leave you alone... He doesn't understand you… He's frightened of you and he wants to get away…"_

"Make them shut up!" he sobbed, and China's honeyed eyes widened.

"Estonia, I didn't… What…are you…?"

"They're voices in my head and they're telling me that you hate me," Estonia whispered.

"Oh… Oh, Estonia…"

China was very weak, and Estonia could see that in the petite man's every movement. But still, China managed to pull himself into a sitting position, facing Estonia, his honey-colored eyes terribly sad.

"I want to know so that I can remind myself that getting weaker is a natural part of death," he said quietly. "I want to know so that I can try to…to leave without regret. Even I am afraid of dying, Estonia. I have lived for thousands of years. That does not mean that I am not afraid. That does not mean that I do not still want to live. And wanting to know when I will die… That does not mean that I hate you."

"I don't want you to go away," Estonia said, aware that he sounded childish, perhaps even insane. "Please don't go away."

China looked extremely sad, and he looked old and tired, worn out, somehow. He was also terribly thin, and he was shaking slightly, trembling from the cold of the cell and from exhaustion.

"I don't want to die, aru," China said softly. "But I can't stop it. No more than you can stop Panem from beating you. We can only cling to our mortal lives for so long, Estonia."

"B-but if you die, then…"

_"It will be like losing Toris again. It might even hurt worse than that. He wasn't here to comfort me this time. You were."_

"Then I am dead," China said gently. "We will all die one day. We cannot stop our deaths."

"You're too much like Toris," Estonia choked out. "Please don't die."

Surprise flashed across China's features, and was quickly replaced by a deep and terrible regret.

"I am not very much like him," China murmured. "If I were like him, I would have fought Panem to save him. But I did not. You ought to blame me for his death, aru. I was the one who didn't save him, not you. You… Do you blame yourself for what happened to him? I have wondered…"

"I'm not sure who to blame," Estonia choked. "Myself… Or Russia. Usually I blame myself. But I don't want anyone else to die, especially not someone who is kind to me. Someone who i-isn't afraid… Someone who those voices sometimes think is s-safe… No one is safe anymore, not even Raivis… I'm scared… They're making me scared… I don't want to be alone!"

He started to cry, and China, who was weak and frail and seemed about to break, held him as he cried, whispering soft, comforting words that Estonia had once heard from his own older brother. Had it not been for the difference in accent, he could almost have pretended that Lithuania was there with him, although he knew it was not true.

As he cried, he heard the buzzing in the background, and wondered if this strange, slightly annoying buzzing sound was another part of China's torture, or if it was a sound that his mind had created.

The constant commentary from the voices in his head had told him something, and this thing would be true whether or not the buzzing was real.

He was imagining things, hearing things, and those things were not of this world.

He was truly, irreversibly, insane.

* * *

America nearly broke down when the cell door opened again, expecting it to be Panem, come to take him away. It was not Panem that he saw, however, but two of her soldiers, both young. Physically, they were probably only a little older than he was, and they looked as if they might have been decent people, had their world been different.

As they were, America hated them. They were humans who had allowed a psychopathic nation to rule, and not only that, they served her, doing her will. These might have been his own people when they had been young, but, despite that possibility, he hated the two soldier boys.

"Come on, kid," said one of the soldiers, a red-head who would not meet America's eyes.

And America had no choice but to stand up, to obey, knowing that his every action might result in the death of another nation. He did not dare to disobey Panem or her soldiers.

"It will be all right, Alfie," he heard England murmur, but he found no comfort in the words, for, surely, what was about to happen would be even worse than what had already been done.

The cell door clanged shut, and he was out in the corridor, alone with the soldiers, not knowing where to go.

"W-where to?" he whispered, trying to keep the fear from his voice, and failing miserably. He was terrified, terrified that he would have to torture someone else, and that it would be exceedingly painful, excruciating for both him and his victim.

"Down the hall," the red-haired soldier said. "You're going to pay one of your pals a visit."

_"Who? Who's in here? And why would they let me visit anyone else? This…this isn't what it seems, it can't be. Something bad is going to happen."_

He had no choice, though, but to follow the red-haired soldier and his companion down the hall. As they passed one of the doors on the right side of the corridor, America froze, hearing screams from within.

_"Lithuania… No. No, it's that recording… That's Belarus's cell."_

He wanted to go to her, for although the sound of Lithuania's recorded torment nearly drowned out all other noise, America could hear faint sobbing, and he knew that it was Belarus, knew that this torture was breaking her, and he wanted to help her if he could.

He took a step toward Belarus's cell, and the red-haired soldier boy struck him in the face.

"Not that one, idiot!" the soldier snapped. "Come on, or haven't you been listening to Jones? She'll kill your precious little girlfriend there, if you don't do what we say."

It took America a moment to realize that 'Jones' was his sister, that the soldiers might not know her as Panem. He was slower to realize that the soldier boy had called Belarus his girlfriend, and guilt pierced his heart, for he had entertained that fantasy, although briefly. And it was a worthless fantasy, for she did not belong to him.

"Bela- Natalya… Is not my girlfriend," he managed.

_"She should have been Toris's. But now she belongs to no one, to nothing except her own guilt."_

"As if I care," the soldier said. "Now, get moving, will you?"

There was a total indifference in the soldier's face and voice, despite the shrieks emanating from Belarus's cell. America wondered if the red-haired soldier boy had a heart. He somehow doubted it.

A few steps down the corridor, and they were in front of another cell. The guards halted, this time, and America realized that he did not know whose cell this was.

"W-where is Jones?" he asked, because he did not know what else to say.

The soldier boy smirked.

"That would be telling."

His companion jerked the cell door open, and the red-haired soldier pushed America inside. As the cell door clanged shut, America became aware of a faint buzzing, and he wondered what kind of a nightmare he had stepped into.

The cell heavily resembled his own, small, with concrete walls and floor, and a heavy iron door. It was darker here, though, and at first, America thought that the cell was deserted.

"A… America?"

The voice was China's, and America struggled to see through the dim light of the cell, and was finally able to make out a slim figure leaning against the wall.

"I didn't know you were here," he said, stupidly, and China laughed weakly.

"I'm not sure I knew you were here either, aru," the Chinese man said. "It's getting harder to remember what I know and what I don't."

China smiled, patting the space next to him.

"Sit down," he said. "If you're going to stay in here, then you'll need to save your strength."

"They said I was visiting," America said. "I t-think this is supposed to be some sort of punishment for me. I don't know."

He sat down next to China, and it was not until he looked closely at the petite man that he realized just how thin China seemed. Perhaps the man's loose garments had concealed it before, but now, in prison, China looked terribly, unnaturally thin. Thinner than before, far too thin...

"Have you been eating?" he asked, once again sounding utterly stupid. China laughed.

"No, aru," he said. "Estonia brings water every two days. That's all."

America could only stare at China, feeling guilt rise within him again.

"All this because of what I did," he murmured.

"No," China said. "All this because Panem is insane. Do not blame yourself. It will get you nowhere. Or…perhaps it will send you into sadness or insanity. You do not want that, do you, America?"

"I don't want to just forget about what I did, either," America said. "That…that would make all of this completely pointless. If I just forget it all, then…"

"Then you will be sane and happy." China laid his hand on America's arm. "I would rather you be happy than broken, aru."

China's slim hand was shaking, and America could only stare at the petite man, wondering how it was that people like China and England could be so strong, even now.

"I would rather you forget it all than have to live with the memory," China said. "These are painful moments, painful days, America, and we cannot overcome them simply by giving in to the pain. Some of us will not escape the pain of this place at all. Some of us-myself included-will likely die here. You need to understand that, and you need to understand that Panem's insanity is not your fault."

The Chinese man sighed, seeming very old and tired for a moment.

"My brothers and sisters have done many things that they should not have," he said. "I myself have done cruel things. Every nation does cruel things, America. But it does not help us to dwell on those things. It only makes us stay there, in that painful moment, instead of pressing on. You do not want that, do you? You do not want to die as Lithuania did, do you?"

America choked back a sob.

_"I'd give anything to be able to save people like Lithuania did. Then I could die, knowing that I'd helped someone."_

"America, aru…" China's honeyed eyes were filled with concern, and pain, too. "He wanted to die. He is probably happier where he is now. But you are still here, and you are a strong, young nation."

"I'm not a nation anymore," America whispered. "I'm not anything anymore. Least of all a hero."

"You can be a hero," China said. "There are many types of heroes, America. Some will not be lauded for what they have done, and others will be. But every human being, no matter how vile, has likely done something heroic in their lifetime. Some are born to be heroes, and they perform many acts of heroism. Some are evil, and they perform only one or two heroic acts. But everyone is a hero, America, to some degree. Every person-even Panem-has some goodness in them. And you, who are young and brave and have much heroism in you, should not allow yourself to be swallowed in self-hatred. Those who spend their lives hating themselves, pitying themselves for what they have become, will not be full heroes."

"Lithuania hated himself," America said.

"But not when he was first a hero," China said. "He did not hate himself then, aru. You know that. He lived with you once; you saw how he was. He did not hate himself until he left Russia. It was that-leaving Russia, failing to save Russia-that broke him."

_"And it was Estonia's insanity and Belarus's rejection and his own imprisonment and Latvia's alcoholism. It was Russia's abuse and the fact that he couldn't stop the others from getting hurt; he couldn't even save himself from depression. And I never really understood how helpless he was… Until now."_

* * *

**Well, this has been a chapter... **

**So, Panem's name is indeed Perri Jones. Perri because... No reason. Jones because, technically speaking, she _is_ futuristic America. She personifies the same basic landmass, thus sharing many of his characteristics. (She doesn't resemble him as much physically, although, courtesy of Hinotori-hime's brilliance, she does have a cowlick.) **

**I apologize for my lack of description of...well, everything. I have always been really bad at remembering that not everyone has the same picture in their head that I have, but I will try harder to describe things in the future! Someone asked about the prison cells-they're basically just square, empty, concrete rooms with metal doors. And they are indeed underground. I ought to draw a basic floor plan of this place-it might come in handy. No promises that I'll get around to that, though. **

**Also. This fic is currently at twenty-five chapters, and it is not halfway finished yet. Which means that... Well, this is going to take forever to finish. I'm not sure why I felt the need to inform you of that, and I am now rambling on needlessly, so I shall be silent. **


	26. Captives

Chapter Twenty-Six: Captives

America stayed with China for a long time, waiting, talking softly, until it was clear that the Chinese man was too exhausted to talk longer.

"You have to wake me before an hour passes," China murmured faintly. The man was half asleep, his head leaning back against the wall. "Promise me you'll do that."

Uncertain of the significance of China's request, America nodded, grinning with a false confidence.

"I'll wake you, don't worry. Take a rest. I'll probably still be here when you wake up."

China was asleep only a few minutes later, and America thought that the Chinese man looked very small and vulnerable, leaning against the wall, and he had to wonder how it was that people like China could still remain sane despite these circumstances. He, a strong nation with a strong human form, was breaking. And yet China, whose human form was so fragile, was not broken yet.

Carefully, so as not to wake China, America adjusted his position, staring up at the dark ceiling. He wondered why it was so dark in this room, wondered why China had told him to be sure to wake him up again.

The darkness of the cell betrayed him. He was exhausted, drained by the pain and sorrow that he had both witnessed and then experienced for himself, and his eyes began to close.

He was awakened by the loudest noise he had ever heard, and he was certain that this had to be a nightmare, until he looked over and saw China curled up on the floor, shaking and sobbing. Then he knew that this was not a nightmare, but part of China's torture.

"Why?" he shouted, and he could barely hear himself over the noise. It was too loud, too high-pitched, and he could not think. He wondered if he could be driven mad by such a noise, and he pulled China up, close to him, not really thinking, but seeing that the older man was in pain and that the noise was making China cry.

He began to cry too, because this was his chance to be some kind of a hero, but he did not want to do it. He did not want to have to listen to this horrible noise, which threatened to deafen him, or else drive him mad.

But he clamped his own hands over China's ears, and with no protection left to himself, he lowered his head, sobbing, wanting to cover his own ears, but also realizing that this one time could not deafen him, but that a repeated torture of this kind might deafen China.

He could protect one person for a moment, although it might do no good, and he kept his hands over China's ears until the terrible noise faded away.

"America…?"

China looked up at him, honeyed eyes wide and filled with tears, and America knew then that China was not so far from breaking.

"What was that?" America murmured, removing his hands from China's, which were still clamped over the slim man's ears. America's own ears throbbed, and he had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing. China would be able to hear his sobs now, and so he _must not cry_.

"If I sleep for more than an hour…" China said slowly, "She turns that on. I don't know…if it will deafen me or not. But I cannot sleep without being forced to hear that sound."

"You can't eat, you can't sleep…" America whispered, horrified, and China nodded.

"I don't know what she thinks she is proving," the Chinese man said. "But she is proving something to herself, aru. It may end in my death, but that is all right. Perhaps once she has beaten me, the oldest nation, she will stop abusing the rest of you."

America thought of the hatred he had seen in Panem's eyes, and he knew that it would not stop with China's death, or Estonia's, or his own. Panem's hatred might never be satisfied.

But before he could tell China that and shake the man's fragile hope, the door opened, and the red-haired soldier boy was there.

"Come on," the soldier said. "Time to get back to your own cell. Say goodbye to your friend. You might not see him again."

America bit his lip, turning to China, who smiled softly.

"It will be all right, aru," he said. "It will end soon enough."

And America had no choice but to leave China to suffer alone, until the ending which the Chinese man seemed to have accepted. But America knew that no one could easily accept their own demise, and so he thought that China must be afraid, too.

* * *

In an alleyway, somewhere in the back streets of a city that would soon become known as the Capitol, Japan wished that Italy would smile. He wished that Germany was there. He wished that they had food and safety and that they were not both thin, worn out, hungry.

He wished that Italy would stop trying to deny what had happened to them. The boy had denied Germany's death since the day of the explosion, and perhaps he would always deny it. But it hurt to see him, hurt to know that one day, he, Japan, was going to have to explain to Italy that Germany was gone forever, and was not coming home.

Italy did realize that their situation was serious, but he did not understand that they might die. That much was clear from his constant assertions that they could find everyone else if only they searched harder. Japan himself wanted to keep searching, needed to know if his family members were alive.

But he was afraid of what he would find, and now, they were weak from lack of food. They needed to find shelter, somehow, somewhere. They needed to find a house, a place to operate out of while they searched for the others.

"Hey, Japan?" Italy's voice was quiet, sad, and his eyes were far away. "Can we really die now?"

He hated the constant questioning. He hated seeing Italy trying to come to terms with this tragedy, only to fail time and time again. The boy could not yet grasp the true depth of the tragedy, and perhaps he never would.

"I… Italy…"

"Answer his question, why don't you?" a girl's voice asked. "Tell him. Can you die, or can't you…Japan?"

Japan cursed himself for being exhausted, for letting his guard down long enough for an enemy to slip in unnoticed.

He knew it was Panem-there was no one else it could be. He saw her at the end of the alleyway, and he leapt to his feet, standing between Panem and Italy, wishing desperately that he had a weapon. If only he had a weapon, then he could defend Italy. But he was unarmed, he had been unarmed for too long, and now they were trapped.

"Italy," he mumbled. "If you see an opening, run. Understand?"

"J-Japan?" Italy said uncertainly. "What's going on? Is that…?"

"This is Panem, Italy," the brunette girl murmured, her voice almost soothing. "Do you understand what that means? Or are you too stupid to even grasp the significance of my identity?"

Italy whimpered, and Japan felt cold anger rushing into his body.

"Do not call him stupid," he snapped, and he heard the flint in his own voice. "Get away from him and from me. Leave!"

Panem giggled, and Japan found himself becoming unnerved by the noise, becoming frightened by this girl who had murdered many people who had been dear to him.

_"She killed my family, likely enough. Germany too, and perhaps everyone else. I will not let her kill Italy."_

"Japan?" Italy whispered. "What are we going to do?"

Japan could hear the fear in the Italian boy's voice, and he knew that he would have to somehow find a way to save Italy, for Italy certainly could not save himself. If Japan tried, he could flee the scene. But to do so would be to leave Italy behind, and he would not do that.

"We are going to fight her, Italy," he said. "_I_ will fight her. You stay there."

"You, fight me?" Panem asked, sounding almost amused by the idea. "But Japan, I am immortal. I have a gun pointed at your head. What do you have? You have nothing, my dear former nation. You are weak, powerless, and unarmed. If I wanted to, I could crush you now. As a matter of fact, I think I might. What if I humiliate you as I did your brother?"

Japan did not freeze, not then, but he did have questions racing through his mind, pounding in his brain.

_"Which brother? China? Could it be China?"_

"What did you do?" he murmured, his voice soft. He could hear danger in his own voice, and he wondered, vaguely, if perhaps there was a berserker inside of him, and if so, would that person come out to help him now? He doubted it. He had not had much luck in the department of survival and victory for a very long time.

"Why don't you come with me?" Panem asked. "You could find out. You could see China. Wouldn't you like that, Japan? You've been alone with this idiot for a long time, haven't you? I do think that must get tiring, always having to answer his useless questions. Don't you wish you could see the rest of your friends again? Your real friends? Do you look after this idiot of your own free will, Japan? Or do you do it only out of obligation? For Germany, perhaps? Surely you don't really care about an idiot like this, do you?"

"Japan…" Italy whispered, and Japan could hear uncertainty in the boy's voice. "You don't really think of me like that, right?"

"No, Italy," Japan said, and he made the mistake of turning to the boy, intending to reassure him. He would regret that mistake for the rest of his life, for at the instant that he turned away, Panem's gun went off.

Japan fell to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain, trying desperately not to cry out, trying to keep his composure.

_"Shot in the leg. You fool. Had you kept your attention on her, she would not have fired on you. This is your doing, and yours alone. Your blood is on your own hands, and so is Italy's. You looked away. Fool."_

Italy was staring at him, wide-eyed, terrified, and Japan knew that there was no way that they could escape this now. He knew it even before he felt Panem's iron grip on his shoulders, before his hands were forced behind his back, locked into tight handcuffs. He could not even beg Italy to run. Panem's soldiers were blocking the only way out of the alleyway, and Japan could only imagine what they would do to Italy if he tried to escape. The boy would be shot, and it would be a terrible thing to see. He had seen Italy injured before. It had been agonizing then, and to see the boy shot now, when they could die…

No, he could not do that to Italy, not even knowing the torture that they would soon face. He thought it highly probable that there would be torture, and that they would not survive. However, there was always a chance of surviving, and it was better to suffer for that chance than to watch Italy be shot.

Had he known what would become of them, he might have chosen differently. But he did not know, and he lowered his head in defeat, choking back bitter tears. He would not cry. He was still a warrior, and warriors did not cry.

Italy still stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, and Japan felt as if he had betrayed the boy.

"Please forgive me, Italy," he murmured. "I cannot fight her like this."

"So you can't," Panem said. "I'm so glad you agree, Japan. Now, if you don't mind, let's get moving. I'd like to get inside. It's starting to rain."

It was indeed raining, and Japan, lifting his head to look at the grey sky, wondered if it would be all right to cry now, when Italy would not see, nor realize that he was crying. And he realized with a deep certainty that he had indeed failed Italy, and he had failed Germany too.

_"Japan, stay here, and for heaven's sake, _take care of Italy_!"_

One request, the only thing Germany had asked him to do. And he had failed.

He kept his face emotionless-years of training had made that easy enough. But silent tears ran down his cheeks, and in his mind, he apologized to Germany and to Italy.

_"I have failed both of you. I do not understand why you thought I could save Italy, Germany. You should have let me go back and help the others. You should have stayed with Italy. You were strong and you could have protected him."_

Panem pulled him up, and he gasped in pain as he attempted to put weight on his injured leg. She dragged him to the car, and all the while he tried futilely to stand, trying desperately to stay strong, and failing.

Panem's car was like those that American policemen had once driven, Japan thought, and he also thought, as he and Italy were shoved into the backseat, that if Panem and her soldiers were the police, and the former nations the criminals, then their world had truly fallen into an irreparable sorrow.

"Japan? I'm scared. Do you think Germany will come save us? It's about time for him to show up, right? He's been gone a long time…"

Japan buried his head in his hands.

_"Someone tell him. Someone save him. Someone reverse the clock. Someone do _something_! I'm sorry… I can't do anything for him, not like this. I failed."_

* * *

Russia knew the world had ended when Lithuania fell asleep in his arms. Lithuania had never trusted him that much, not in their Soviet days, and certainly not afterwards. No one had trusted him for a very long time after that, and there were some who still did not trust him now. They had every right to not trust him, but even so, the knowledge that people still despised him for something he had done decades ago was yet another painful thing to add to Russia's list of painful things.

"It is better to list the painful things," he said to the sleeping Lithuanian, "than it is to let them overwhelm you."

It would have been best to forget the terror and pain entirely. But he had promised himself that he would not forget, and thus he must remember. He was terrified of forgetting, for if he were to forget what he had done…

"Then I would once again hurt you," he said. "And you could not stand that now, my Toris. You could not even stand it then, in the Soviet days. You could not stand it then, and I broke you."

He remembered, and he needed to find a way to save Lithuania. That was why the memory still existed. It was so that he could look back, see what he had done, and find a way to fix it.

And yet, he was no longer certain that Lithuania could be fixed.

"But I can't live without him…" he murmured, sounding pathetic even to himself. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, Lithuania in his arms, practically in his lap, and he lifted the boy off of him, setting the pale, silent Lithuanian on the bed. Lithuania whimpered quietly, and then curled into a ball. The boy trembled slightly, and Russia smoothed his hair, a worried frown hovering on his once cheerful face.

"You have to get better," he said. "I will be hurt if you do not. You would not hurt me, would you, _Litva_?"

_"But you hurt him,"_ his mind whispered. _"And so he has every right to hurt you."_

"Be silent," Russia told his mind. "I will help Lithuania at this time."

He glanced at the boy again, saw how thin and pale Lithuania was, and he wondered if Lithuania could be helped, now. Perhaps it was already too late.

"You have to be okay," he said, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "If you are not okay, then… Then we will not be able to save China and Belarus."

This was a second plan that had been growing in his mind, a wish that, although not as important as his wish to save Lithuania, was still quite important to him.

If he could find a way, he was going to find Panem's prison and save his sister and his friend. He could do that, if he could only think of a way. He was Russia, unbreakable now that he had his sanity again. He would have to be invincible too, for Lithuania and for everyone else.

"But especially for you," he said to the sleeping Lithuanian. "I will try to think of a way to be saving Belarus and China. But before I can be saving them, my _Litva_… I will be saving you. And you must help me, da? Help me save you, Toris. You had strength once. I need that strength now. I do not think I have such strength. I have never been like you. But I will try very hard, and maybe at some time, I will be strong enough to save you."

"You can't, Ivan," Lithuania murmured, half asleep. "No one is that strong. Believe me. I used to be strong. Now look at me."

"I am looking at you, Toris," Russia said. "And I see someone who needs to rest and get better. So, sleep now."

Lithuania turned his face away, and Russia wondered if he was oversimplifying the situation. Lithuania would get better. He had to get better, and that was all there was to it. Russia would save Lithuania, if he could. And if he could not, then he would die trying. It was that simple.

If it was not that simple, then he was going to go insane. He might well go insane anyways.

"Don't ever leave me, Toris," he whispered. He sounded pitiful, childish, but Lithuania was asleep again and did not hear him. Russia looked down at Lithuania and wondered if such a frail and scarred person should be forced to live. Perhaps it was cruel, but he could not believe that.

He would lose his mind if he did not save Lithuania.

Russia leaned over and, softly, he kissed Lithuania's hair. He would never do such a thing when the boy was awake, not having seen Lithuania with Belarus. He could not in good conscience kiss a conscious Lithuania, knowing that the boy loved someone else. Not knowing that Lithuania might pretend to love him out of pity.

But when Lithuania was asleep and did not know… Then, Russia kissed him, very softly. Then he turned away, leaving Lithuania to his slumber, and went out into the main room of the apartment. There, he sat down on the battered sofa, and tried to believe that he could save Lithuania. And while he was attempting to believe in himself, he tried to think of a way in which he could also save Belarus and China.

No plan came. After an hour and a half of thinking in vain, alone, with no one to hear him in his agony, Russia started to cry.

* * *

Panem locked them away in a dark prison cell, and Japan did not know how long it would be that they would stay there. Italy was quiet, and his silence was merciful and horrible all at once. Japan wanted the boy to chatter, but he also did not want to hear any more questions.

He had heard crying from one of the other cells. It had been a girl crying, but he did not know who it was. It could not be Taiwan. The voice had sounded too old for Liechtenstein or Seychelles, too hysterical for Hungary. Belgium, then, or one of Russia's sisters?

It did not really matter. He would find out someday, and when he did find out, he would probably not like what he found.

Japan was afraid of what Panem would do to them, for the screaming cries he had heard had sounded no less than insane. And Panem had mentioned his brother, but he had not seen China. Something horrible was happening in this prison, something torturous and cruel.

It was more than probable that there was literal torture going on, but he must not think of it now. He must stay strong for Italy, who sat next to him now. The boy stared down at his shaking hands, once-bright eyes wide and scared.

"I will protect you, Italy," Japan said, and the boy turned a wide-eyed gaze on him.

"Because Germany told you to? Or because you want to? You really do care about me, right, Japan?"

Japan cursed Panem for planting the seeds of doubt in Italy's mind. Although he was often annoyed by the Italian boy, he did care for him. He would always care, and for Panem to say that he did not, for Italy to take those words to heart… It was a further implication of the extent of his failure to protect Italy from the horror of their world.

"Yes, Italy," he said. "I do care about you, and you are not allowed to listen to what Panem says. Understand?"

"What if she asks me a question?" Italy asked.

"Then do not answer her!" Japan snapped. "Don't… Do not allow her to become angry, Italy. Speak to her if it will keep her calm, but only then. At all other times, let me do the talking."

_"Let me protect you."_

"Okay," Italy said. "But I can still talk to you, right?"

Japan sighed.

"Yes, Italy, you can."

"That's good!" Italy said, and there was a cheerful light in his eyes again. "I would get pretty bored if I couldn't talk to you!"

"I suppose you would," Japan murmured, leaning his head back against the cold, concrete wall of the prison cell. He thought they must be in the basement of Panem's headquarters. It seemed logical enough, what with the cold and the lack of windows. But it did not matter. They would be tormented here either way.

"Japan? Are you okay?"

"Go to sleep now, Italy," he whispered, not daring to look at the boy. "You need your rest. Panem will be back soon."

"I wish she wouldn't come back," Italy said. The Italian boy scooted closer to Japan, leaning his head on the dark-haired man's shoulder.

Japan stiffened, but then, he smiled sadly, and allowed Italy's head to remain on his shoulder.

_"I will let him have the comfort he wishes for now. Soon enough, there will be torture, and perhaps a day will come when I cannot comfort or protect him at all. But for now… I will try."_

* * *

**And so, now, Italy and Japan are officially a part of the main plot. Yay. (Not-yay for them.) Anyways...**

**Oh yeah. One-sided RusLiet has been confirmed in this chapter. The way I see it, Russia has probably had a crush on Lithuania since before the Soviet era, but it wasn't until after the Soviet Union broke up that he realized that no amount of force could make Lithuania love him in that way. Especially since, once the Soviet Union dissolved, Lithuania was terrified of him for a while and kind of made it a point to avoid him. (At least, that's how I see it. All things considered, the last thing Lithuania as a person would have wanted at that point was to be around Russia. He was having enough trouble coping at that point without risking being imprisoned again.) ****Of course, Russia realizes now that Lithuania loves Belarus, and that's not going to change. He can't change that, and he also knows that Lithuania, broken or otherwise, is just _too nice_. He doesn't want Lithuania to realize his feelings and pretend to love him, so he attempts to retain some of his clueless, childish side as an excuse for sometimes acting a little odd.**

**Also, is it clear yet that I cannot write Japan? Because those were two of the most awkward scenes I have ever written. I think. I have probably written worse. **

**I think that is all I had to say. So, yeah. Until next time! :) **


	27. Angel's Soul

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Angel's Soul

Iceland wished that the days were not so long, and he wished that there were more meals than one in every day. He wanted to see Latvia. Latvia was the only person who still cared, or so it seemed. Out of all the people Iceland had cared for in the past, none were left. There was only Latvia, who had come to care for him when he no longer had the strength to care about himself.

He wondered how such a tiny boy could possibly be so strong, and decided that it must be because of the hardship that Latvia had been subjected to in the past. Latvia had not been shielded by his family, not in the way that Iceland had been.

He had never realized how much the other Nordics had protected him from the world. He would give anything to have that protection back, now that it was gone forever.

The cell door opened, and Iceland was frightened. He recognized the slim girl in the doorway, knew that this would be one of his worst beatings. The abuse was always worse when Panem carried it out herself. Even the emotionless soldiers seemed to have some kind of reluctance to beat a child, but Panem had no such feelings of guilt. She was, Iceland thought, a true psychopath.

And that psychopath had come to hurt him again. How many days had it been now? He could not remember. It hurt too much to try to count all the beatings, hurt too much to even move his legs from their current position.

"Hello, Eirikur," Panem said, and Iceland tried not to shudder. He tried to remain immobile, head lowered, knowing that if he started to tremble, she would see. She would see, she would see his fear, and she would hurt him more because of that fear.

"Aren't you going to say hello to me?" Panem asked, coming over, forcing Iceland's head up. "It's not polite to ignore people, my dear Eirikur."

Iceland glared at her, hoping that he looked at least partially defiant. He wanted nothing more than to beg for death. It would be all right, if he were dead. Latvia would have one less person to worry about. No one else-except for Estonia-even knew that he was here. If he could die…

But his proud heart, which had shattered into pieces, and yet still retained a portion of its pride, would not allow him to beg, not yet. Begging for death at Latvia's hand was different. That was not admitting to Panem that she had won.

But to beg for death when she was in front of him… Yes, that would be a victory for her, and he did not want the woman who had murdered his family to have any sort of victory.

His silence had angered her, for she struck him across the face, and he had to fight back an agonized whimper.

"I said, it's not polite to ignore people," Panem hissed. "Answer me, Eirikur."

"Why do you hate me?"

The words had been spoken before he had time to think, and he could not take them back. He did not want to take them back, for he had wondered, alone in the dark, why it was that Panem hated him so. He had done nothing to her.

"Why do I hate you?" Panem asked, and Iceland had never seen her eyes so full of pain and fury. "Why do you think, you heartless child?"

She struck him again, and this time he did cry out, sobbing, barely resisting the impulse to scream for Latvia, who he knew could not come. Nonetheless, he wanted to cry for Latvia. Latvia was the only person who might be able to comfort him.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Please don't hit me."

The last four words sounded pitiful, even to his own ears, and he hated himself for that, for his pathetic weakness in the face of an agony that even little Latvia was somehow able to withstand.

"I'll hit you as much as I want!" Panem snapped, and she kicked out at him, then, her foot connecting with his stomach. Her boots were steel-toed, that much was certain, and Iceland sobbed quietly. The abuse grew more agonizing every day, for the bruises were multiplying, and his entire body seemed to throb with agony.

"I don't understand," he whispered. "What did I ever do to you?"

"It's not so much what you did to me as it is what you did to your family," Panem said, and Iceland felt his blood freeze.

"What…are you saying?"

"You had everything," Panem whispered, her voice full of a harsh, hateful agony. "You had everything I ever wanted. You had a family and a big brother who loved you! That was all I wanted, but did you appreciate the fact that you had something that most of us did not?"

Iceland froze, remembering the years past, the times with his family… All of the times that he had shoved them away. They had wanted to help him, and he had not understood it then.

_"Big brother…"_

He never did want to say that name. He only said it that day because it would do no harm. But after that, he did not call Norway big brother again, not aloud, not unless he had no choice. He thought of Norway as his brother-Norway _was_ his brother-but he was not about to call the older Nordic by the title that he had so wanted to be called by.

_"He would have been happy if you had done that. If I had called him big brother… I could have called all of them big brother… I…"_

"You shoved them away!" Panem hissed, striking him in the face. "You shoved the people who loved you away, time and time again! They protected you anyways, and that… That wasn't fair, Eirikur. You never showed any kind of gratitude for what they did for you! They protected you, loved you, and you… Did you ever even accept their love?"

"I j-just wanted to be an adult…" Iceland murmured, and then he was crying, for Panem began to kick him again, and she did not stop this time.

"Some of us wanted to be children!" she shrieked. "Some of us would have given anything to have what you had! You had a family, you ungrateful wretch, and you shoved them away, acted as if they meant nothing to you! Some of us would have given anything in the world for what you had! Y-you… This is why I hate you, Iceland. You had everything that I ever wanted… And yet you acted as if the most wonderful gift in the world meant nothing. You had a family who loved you, cared about you, would have given everything to protect you. A family who invested in your life, who worried for you. You had all of that. I never did. And that is why I hate you! You had the thing I wanted most, and you didn't care! Do you understand the blessing you had, Iceland, now that your family is gone? Do you understand how good your life was, having someone to love you and protect you?"

He did understand, and he knew that he had been cruel to his family. He had been very cruel, and he had shoved them away. He had thought that in doing so, he could prove that he was strong, an adult. But despite all his efforts to stand alone, his family had still supported him, been there for him. And now that they were gone, he saw how much they had done to help him.

He knew, now that it was too late, that he needed them. And he wanted his family back, for he would not have been ungrateful to them now. He would have done whatever they asked him too, and would have apologized for his coldness.

Being an adult was not worth the pain and sorrow.

"Yes, I know," he managed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you…that you didn't have a family. And I'm sorry that I didn't realize that I had a gift in the family that I had. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

"Not yet, you aren't," Panem said. "For being so ungrateful, Iceland, there is yet a greater price for you to pay. Selfish children have to be punished thoroughly, you know."

"No! No, I don't want to!" Iceland shrieked, suddenly terrified. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't do that," Panem said. "The unrighteous must be punished for their sins, my dear ice prince, Eirikur. And you, cold as the ice your nation was named for, have not yet paid a deep enough price for your ingratitude to those who loved you. It's not that I care about your family-I couldn't care less. I care only for the fact that you had everything I wanted…and you tried to reject it. I would have given anything for the love and protection that you had. And so, Iceland, you will be punished for throwing away such a precious gift."

And then she turned away, leaving the cell. But just before the door closed, Iceland heard her voice.

"The screams you have heard for days outside your cell… Will be yours tomorrow."

The door clanged shut, leaving Iceland in utter darkness, remembering the agonized screams that had echoed through the prison in the past weeks. If Panem was speaking the truth, he would soon cry out with the same agony. And that terrified him.

But he almost believed he deserved it, for he _had _been cruel to his family, who had loved him.

Alone in his prison, Iceland cried like a child, longing for a return of the protection he had once had.

If one of the other Nordics had walked into his cell at that moment, he would have apologized for every time that he had ever treated them badly, every moment that he had pretended to be an adult instead of allowing them to take care of him.

Had he been able to somehow reverse time so that his family was still alive, Iceland would never again have taken them for granted, nor would he have thought of their antics as annoying.

Now that they were dead, now that they would never return, he knew better.

* * *

When he entered Iceland's cell, Latvia saw instantly that the older boy had already been beaten. Iceland's face was bruised more heavily than it had been the previous morning, and he hung limply in the chains, shaking.

"Eirikur?" Latvia whispered, unable to shake the panic that he felt at finding Iceland like this. The silver-haired Nordic looked to be near death, and although Latvia knew that this was not so, it still frightened him.

"Raivis." Iceland sounded tired, beaten, hurt, and Latvia ran to him, setting the food and water down on the floor as he did so.

"I think she's going to hurt me," Iceland whispered, and Latvia saw pure terror-Estonia's terror-in Iceland's violet eyes.

"She's going to hurt me so that I will scream very loud," Iceland said. "I'm… I'm scared, Raivis."

Iceland sounded like a child, and Latvia wondered how it was that the people who seemed strongest were always the first to break. He went to Iceland, knelt, embraced the Nordic boy. He could feel Iceland trembling, and he felt a deep and strange protectiveness deep inside of him, a deep urge to protect and shield this boy if he could.

"I'll talk to her," he said, looking up into Iceland's eyes. "She likes me. She might listen to me."

"Everyone likes you, Raivis," Iceland murmured. "It's because you're kind."

"Not as kind as Toris," he said, and Iceland hesitated, looking uncertain.

"I didn't know him well," the Nordic boy said after a long pause. "But I do know you. And I think you are the kindest person I have ever known."

"I'm not, though," Latvia whispered. "If I was, I…"

"Shut up," Iceland said. "But don't leave me. Not yet. Stay with me for a little while. I'm _scared_…"

Latvia found himself stroking Iceland's hair, and wondering how it could possibly be that he had now assumed the role of comforter. He remembered a long ago day, back in the Soviet house, when Lithuania had been there for him, comforting him, stroking his hair and whispering kind words.

Now there was no Lithuania. There was no sanity, there was no kind, sunshiny older brother to make things better. He, Latvia, and he alone, would have to make things better. It was his job to protect the others now, for he was the strongest of them all. He would have to save them, for they could not save themselves. Estonia was broken, and would soon be fully insane. Iceland, too, had been broken by fear, and Latvia vowed that he would protect the Nordic boy from insanity if he could.

"It's going to be okay," he said to Iceland. "M-maybe I can reason with Panem. Maybe there's something I can do for her. Maybe…"

He saw alarm in Iceland's eyes, and he did not understand what he had said. He only knew that he had frightened Iceland.

"Don't do things for her, Raivis," Iceland said. "Not for that monster."

"If I can save other people," Latvia said, "then I'll do anything for Panem."

Iceland sighed, and then he was quiet, leaving Latvia to wonder what he had said to upset the older boy.

"Don't sacrifice yourself," Iceland said at last. "Sometimes I think you're the only sane person left here. So you can't…"

"I can," Latvia said firmly. "And if it comes to a sacrifice, then I will do whatever I can to save you. It's better for someone like me to die than someone who is strong, someone who can build a new life somewhere. It's better for anyone to live instead of me, since… Since I am the reason that Panem is insane."

"You're not the reason," Iceland said, and Latvia could only shake his head.

_"All the times I could have saved her, and I didn't even try. I am truly a worthless and despicable human, and so I deserve my death. I'll sacrifice myself if I can. And I will beg, I will beg on my knees, so that Panem will not torture Eirikur. Any more torture will break him the way Eddy broke. I can't let it happen. I won't let it happen. I don't care about the sacrifice, I don't care about whatever made Iceland so scared. I am going to save him."_

* * *

He had not seen Panem since the day she had forced America to torture him. But there she was, striding into the kitchen, and Estonia felt utter terror well up inside of him.

He was shaking, and he could not stop himself. Panem's smirk widened, and he knew that she could see his fear.

"Oh, Eduard," she said, laughing. "Are you scared? Poor little boy."

"D-don't come near me," he whispered. "I'm warning you, don't come near me!"

"And what will you do if I come near you?" Panem asked, her eyes like emerald stones. "Will you strangle me again, Eduard? Was that fun for you, you sick child? You haven't paid for that yet, not completely. And now you're going to!"

She lashed out at him, kicking him in the stomach, sending him sprawling on the floor, whimpering in pain.

Panem was stronger than he had thought, and that became apparent now, as she strode over to him, pure hatred in her eyes.

"You need to die, Eduard von Bock," she said. "You need to die for what you did."

He was not going to apologize, the demons in his head decided. He was going to fight her. But Estonia himself was too frightened, and then Panem's guards were there, pulling him up, ripping his tattered shirt off and securing him with handcuffs, forcing his hands behind his back. He couldn't fight, he couldn't even breathe, he was so afraid…

"So, Eddy dear," Panem said with a twisted smirk. "How would you like to die?"

He was not going to tell her. He was going to sit there and be silent, and she would not kill him. She could not.

"Raivis will never love you if you kill me," he said, and the hatred in Panem's eyes darkened, becoming pure insanity.

"But he does not love you," she said. "He would never love a worthless thing like you."

_"Would he? I think he loves me, but it's so hard to tell… Do you love me, Raivis? Or am I a bad thing to you, an evil thing like Russia was?"_

"He loves me," he whispered, and Panem's face contorted with fury. She lashed out at him, kicking him in the stomach, sending him to the floor. He could not stop his fall, not with his hands behind his back, and his body slammed into the concrete. Estonia whimpered, curling into a ball to shield himself from the inevitable torture.

"Well, I hate you, Eduard," Panem said from above him. "You're a murdering coward, and I _hate_ you! Russia's killed you before, hasn't he?"

_"Lithuania killing me hurt so much more than Russia killing me. Toris, why? Why did you hurt me that time? I don't know. Where are you? I'm losing my memory… Where is Raivis? Raivis is supposed to be here... Raivis, help me."_

"You know how much it hurts," Panem hissed. "And still you condemned me to that fate!"

She had never kicked him so hard before, and Estonia felt pure hatred in her every strike. One of her guards had gone away, but now he returned, bearing with him a heavy whip.

"Please no," he whispered, looking up at Panem, knowing that she would torture him no matter what he said. "Shoot me. I know how I want to die… Shoot me!"

"Sorry, Eduard," Panem said. "I don't do easy deaths. Not now, not ever."

The whip came down across his back, and Estonia wondered foggily if Panem really would kill him. He shrieked in pain, crying out for help, for rescue, for someone to come and save him from fate.

He thought Panem was bluffing, believed that she still needed him in order to further her plans. But she looked so enraged, her eyes blazing with an insane fury, and he was not certain that she would not kill him.

"Raivis, _help_! She's going to kill me, she's really going to kill me… _Help me_!"

He screamed for Latvia. Latvia did not come.

* * *

Coming back down the corridor, Latvia heard the screams, and knew he was too late. Panem was already torturing someone, and Latvia burst into the kitchen to find the maddened girl standing over Estonia, who lay curled up on the floor, immobile, his arms tied behind his back, whip marks on his body.

"Panem!" Latvia cried, and the girl turned to him. He saw utter madness in her eyes, and he was frightened. But although he feared for his own safety, he swallowed that fear, staring into her mad eyes and vowing to be brave for Estonia and Iceland.

"I need to talk to you," he said. "I w-want to talk to you alone, so please come with me now."

"Rai…vis…"

Estonia sounded weak, broken, and Latvia could only imagine the agony his brother was experiencing. He had to distract Panem, somehow, make her forget about Estonia.

And the girl looked interested, so perhaps it was working.

"All right, Raivis," she said. "I'll talk to you. Come on. We can go to my room for a while."

She turned to Estonia, kicking the blond boy, a contemptuous smile on her face.

"I'll finish you off another time. Live in agony for another day, you worthless freak. Your precious Raivis is mine, no matter what you may believe."

Those words, the acknowledgement that he belonged to her, came near to breaking Latvia, for he did not want to be Panem's possession. He had seen that with Lithuania and Russia, and he never wanted to belong to another human being.

But if in doing so he could save his friends' lives… Then he would willingly sell his soul, his body, his very life, for their sakes.

It was with this thought in mind that he followed Panem to her room, trying to quell the fear deep inside of him, trying to shake the feeling that he was making a mistake.

When they were alone in Panem's room, he still wondered what it was that had made Iceland so frightened. He wondered if he was making a sacrifice that even he could not understand. But even if it was a great sacrifice, he would still make it if he could. Anything for the others. For Estonia, for Iceland… Yes, he could sacrifice everything.

"So, Raivis," Panem said, sitting down on her bed, patting the space next to her. "What'd you want?"

He sat down next to her, turned to her, looked into her shattered eyes and wondered how he had never noticed the extent of the torment in her before. And he also wondered if love would fix her. He did not know, and his mission was not to fix her. She might well be beyond saving, now. But Iceland and Estonia could be saved from torture, and he would save them if he could.

"Iceland thinks you are going to torture him," he said, and Panem laughed.

"I am, Raivis," she said, chuckling. "I am. And what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't want you to hurt him," Latvia whispered. "I… I'd be really happy if you wouldn't hurt him or Estonia anymore! I'd do anything…"

"Anything?" Panem asked, and Latvia decided that the covetous gleam in her eyes at that moment was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

"A-anything."

She heard the tremor in his voice, and she smiled, seeming almost sad in that moment.

"No, you wouldn't, Raivis," she said. "There are things you wouldn't do. You just don't know what those things are."

"I would do anything," Latvia insisted. He was beginning to feel desperate, beginning to feel as if he was losing the argument before it started.

"Would you sleep with me?" Panem asked, her voice sharp, and Latvia flinched.

"I didn't think so," the girl said. "And, you know, I'm glad. I wouldn't want you to sleep with me just to save your pathetic friends."

She leaned toward him, smiling, but her eyes still had that broken look in them, and Latvia did not like the brokenness in her eyes. It made him pity her, despite the words she said.

"They are all going to die, Lat," she said, reaching out to him, her slim hand cupping his cheek. "I'm going to kill them. And you… You don't have forever to live either, sweetie. I'll have to kill you. It's better for me to do that than to watch you grow old while I stay sixteen… _Alone. Forever_."

"But if you're going to kill me, then why not let them live?" Latvia cried. "I'd be so much happier if you'd let them live! I don't want to be alone either…"

"You're an idiot, Raivis," Panem said. "Don't you get it? I want you all to myself. And someday…"

The brokenness in her eyes made her insanity all the more horrifying.

"Someday I will have you to myself. All of you, to myself. Won't that be nice?"

"So you're still going to hurt Iceland and Eddy?" Latvia whispered.

"Yes, Raivis, I am, and you can't stop me."

"I wish I could," he said, tears coming into his eyes. "Is there any way I can stop you?"

"No," Panem said. "But you're going to make me happy, regardless of your own wishes."

He whimpered, soft and sad, not sure what she was going to do, but terrified of the madness in her eyes.

She pushed him back, flat on the bed, and he stared up at her, wide-eyed, wondering what she was going to do to him, how far she would go.

_"She just said she wouldn't… But will she remember that? Maybe not. I'm scared! Toris… Eddy? Come save me?"_

Panem smiled, her slim, soft hands stroking his hair, his face. The gestures would have seemed almost affectionate had they not come from Panem. Latvia found himself wishing that it was Estonia here with madness in his eyes. Estonia would be better. Estonia had no interest in hurting him, not in the way that Panem someday would. Estonia felt affection, Estonia felt love, but he would never willingly hurt Latvia in the way that he feared Panem would. Estonia did not operate that way. Panem did.

"I could crush you, little Raivis, if I wanted to," Panem said. "But I don't want to. I don't want to break you right now. You're too cute and precious for me to break."

"T-then don't hurt the others!" Latvia whispered. "If you don't hurt them, then I'll be able to stay…"

"You'll stay sane with _them_ to help you and be your friends!" Panem shrieked, rage and hatred mingling with the broken madness in her eyes. "Damn you, Raivis! I want you all to myself! Why don't you get it?"

She struck him in the face, and he sobbed quietly, wondering if this was how Lithuania had felt in Russia's house. No, no, it could not be so. Russia's obsession with Lithuania…

It _had_ been like this. And yet it had not, for Russia was childishly cruel, and there were things he would never have thought to do to the Baltics, to Lithuania.

There was a side of Panem that was still a little girl, but her insane side was not that child. Her insane side was a twisted adult, and that person would abuse him in whatever way it saw fit. After all, he belonged to her now, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He was not sure he wanted to do anything about it, although she had hurt him. Perhaps he could save her. He knew, deep inside, that he could not, that Panem's mind was already too far broken for him to save her from the darkness that had already consumed her, and that had consumed Estonia before her.

But he wanted to believe in his own ability to save someone. And so, clinging to that belief, he stared into Panem's eyes, and smiled.

"I know you do, Panem," he said. "But I can't be all yours. I don't want to be all yours. But I will stay with you, if you want me to. I don't really have a choice, anyways. You're going to keep me here until I die. So I'll stay with you… But I'll be sad and hurting if you keep torturing my friends."

"Well, you're just going to have to be sad, then," Panem said. "I'm not stopping now, Raivis. I wouldn't stop even if you… Even if you said you would love me. I'll never stop. Someday I'll kill you, too."

She leaned down toward him, and there was a sort of warmth in her eyes now, a twisted affection that Latvia did not quite understand.

"But for now… Let's try to forget that."

She kissed him. He found himself hating her, but still he let her do it. As long as that was as far as she went, he was all right with it. It would keep her mind off of the others, at least for a while. It was worth the sacrifice, as long as she only kissed him.

Had she gone farther, he might have had some objections. But at that moment, he did not particularly mind. She did not notice that he was not paying attention to her, or if she did, she did not say it. She let him lie there, immobile, and he lay there trying not to think about the fact that he belonged to her, trying to believe that he was not being kissed by a psychopath, a psychopath who had some sort of a twisted obsession with him.

He tried not to think of these things. And yet he still knew them to be true. And he knew, deep inside, that any sacrifice he made was pointless.

He belonged to Panem. Panem would kill the others. And that was something that could never change. He could not change it… But he could stay with her. And there was a chance, however slight, that his presence might be able to heal the shattered being known as Panem.

He could not believe in that chance. But he clung to it nonetheless.

It was the only way that he could let her kiss him without protesting. He had to believe that he could heal her.

Nonetheless, tears came into his eyes again, and he began to sob aloud, and Panem kissed the tears away, which only added to his pain and grief.

He wanted it to be someone else kissing him. He wanted Estonia, Lithuania, even Sealand, to kiss him. Anyone but Panem. Anyone but this monster.

He wanted to save her, and he wanted to save the others. But he did not want to belong to her like this.

This time, it ended with kissing. But as time passed… How far would she go? And how could he fight her wishes, knowing that she was hurting too, starving for love? How could he refuse?

And how could he pretend to love her, when the little girl whom he had cared for was long dead, locked inside of a monster?

He could not save her. He could not save Estonia or Iceland. And so, how could he stand this pain?

* * *

**Weird chapter is weird. Panem disturbs me. That is all.**

**So, yes, Panem officially wants Latvia. (Yay. NOT-YAY.) I think we all knew that already. Basically, she wants him to belong to her alone, hence she intends to kill Estonia (although there are other reasons for that), and eventually Iceland. She believes that if he is all alone, he'll have to come to her. But she wants him to love her for real, and not just to pretend in order to help his friends.**

**So yeah. That's a thing. I shall be silent now. **


	28. Demons

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Demons

Alone in his room, Estonia fell into a painful slumber, knowing that he had only just escaped death at Panem's hand.

Latvia had saved him, and where was Latvia now? He did not know, and he was afraid that he might never know, that Latvia had been taken away from him forever.

But he awoke to a soft touch on his arm, and there was Latvia, smiling down at him. Estonia thought, in his half-asleep madness, that the little boy looked more angelic than ever before.

"Raivis," he murmured. "You came back to me."

"Of course I came back," Latvia said. "I'll always come back to you, Eddy."

There was deep sadness in Latvia's voice, and Estonia did not like it. He sat up, looked into the small boy's eyes, saw pain and a deep sorrow there.

"What did she do to you, Lati?" he asked, and the boy looked away, sighing.

"It's not so very bad," he said. "But it doesn't do any good."

"What isn't very bad?" Estonia snapped, feeling dread beginning to build inside of him. "What did she do to you?"

"She's not going to do _that_," Latvia said, his voice bitter. "She said she wouldn't let me save you and Eirikur even if I promised to love her. She wants me to love her on my own, alone. She's going to kill all of you because she wants me all to herself and it's not _fair_! And… I can't do anything to help you…"

Estonia could only stare at Latvia, who looked back at him, his eyes speaking of a great sorrow.

"Nothing I do is helpful, Eddy," he murmured. "My life is worthless, and my death would be even more futile. I b-belong to Panem, and it doesn't even h-help…"

Estonia realized then that Latvia had become Lithuania, and he wanted to cry, wanted to scream out at whatever deity controlled his cruel world. He would tell that deity that this existence was unfair, that making a child become a slave to someone as cruel as Panem was truly evil. But he could not do that, for Latvia was already in tears.

He took the sobbing boy in his arms, gently, for he still did not know what Panem had done, and he did not want to hurt Latvia.

"I'm sorry, Raivis," he said. "I didn't want this to happen. And I didn't save you from it. I'm sorry."

"It would be okay if it did some good," Latvia sobbed. "B-but all it does is distract her! She's still going to torture Eirikur! She's still going to kill you! All this is worth _nothing_!"

"Then leave her, Raivis," Estonia said. "Tell her you want nothing to do with her."

"She will kill you and everyone else if I do that," Latvia said, sounding oddly calm. "I cannot leave her, Eddy. But even staying, I can't save you. I can only prolong your suffering, and give you the slightest hope of survival. It's a cruel hope, because I'm not sure that anyone can escape."

"Raivis…" Estonia fell silent. He had never before felt so powerless to save his younger brother, never before felt quite so despairing of their position. And he had never seen Latvia act quite so angelic, quite so brave, as he acted now. It was as if the boy truly was an angel, sent from heaven only to find the world a cruel and imperfect place, full of broken people, reaching out to him and to another angel who had accompanied him, hoping for solace.

Latvia reminded him _so much_ of Lithuania.

"Why do you have to be like Toris?" Estonia whispered, and Latvia blinked up at him, teary-eyed.

"I am not Toris," he said. "I am even more powerless. But I am also stronger, Eddy. I know I can't save Panem. I can't save anyone. There are people who can't be saved, and there are times when it would be impossible to save even those who should normally be the kind of people who can be saved. I know all that, Eddy. I'm stronger than Toris was, so I'll be okay. I won't let Panem break me, so even if you die, you don't have to worry about me."

"Would you miss me if I died, Raivis?" Estonia whispered, and Latvia wrapped slim, fragile arms around him.

"Yes, Eddy," he said, tears in his voice. "I will miss you very much when you die. But I know… I c-can't save you, can I? Not from Panem?"

"No," Estonia said. "You can't. I… I'm glad you know that, Raivis. It will be better for you that way."

"Maybe," Latvia said. "But the knowing doesn't help. It only hurts more. I don't want to lose you and Eirikur. Even Miss Belarus… I'd rather you guys all stay alive. Because when you're gone, Panem is going to take me for her own. Eddy, I am getting what Toris had, aren't I? Is it called Stockholm Syndrome? Where even though I know I should hate her for what she's doing, I want to stay with her, to help her? This is Stockholm Syndrome, right?"

"Y-yes, Lati. It is."

Estonia began to cry, and Latvia stayed there with him. The two Baltic nations held each other for a long time, both sobbing, both wishing that their lives had been different, that there had been less cruelty, and more joy.

"I would like to be reborn as a human," Latvia said at last. "If I was reborn as a human, and you were reborn as a human, then things would be much better. Maybe humans don't hurt as much. Or, at least, lucky humans don't. Wouldn't you like to have a happy life next time, Eddy?"

_"Only angels get reborn," _said the monster inside Estonia's head. _"Demons go to hell, and that is where they stay. Your friends won't be there. You'll be alone except for your nightmares."_

"Oh, R-Raivis… I'm sorry…"

Latvia did not ask why he was apologizing. But when he began to sob again, clutching at the smaller boy as if to a lifeline, Latvia understood the pain that Estonia felt, and he also clung to his older brother.

Estonia wished that he were an angel. If he were an angel, then he would be able to suffer, but it would not be pointless, and there would be a reincarnation to look forward to. Or, at least, so his demons told him. He was not sure if he believed them, but their conclusion seemed logical enough. Lithuania and Latvia were people who had been destroyed by pain and sorrow, but they had also touched the lives of others, and they had made those lives better with their soft touch. The lives he had touched, Estonia had twisted. And so he was not like his brothers. He was darker, bringing agony to his world and to everyone he loved.

There was only more agony in the afterlife, but it could not possibly be worse than the agony he felt in life. For there would be no Raivis Galante in hell to comfort him. There would only be darkness and pain, and the voices in his head.

There would be no Latvia anymore. It would be horrible, and yet, Estonia's hell on earth, at that moment, was looking down at the tiny angel in his arms, and knowing that no matter how hard he tried, a demon could not sacrifice himself for an angel. Angels were too good for this tattered, human world. Tormented demons merely added to the angels' pain.

Demons had to fall, and after their fall, there was a painful afterlife. But angels, too good for the world, fell too. And when they fell, they hurt even the hearts of demons.

Angels were too good to suffer. But suffer they did. For angels were born to protect and save human beings, and in doing so, they sacrificed first their bodies, then their hearts, and finally, their very sanity.

Angels had to fall. And demons could not protect fallen angels.

Everyone was going to fall. And there was nothing that a shattered demon boy named Eduard could do about it.

He could not even save his angel.

* * *

That night, lying alone in the dark, Panem wondered how it was that the world was so unfair, so cruel to some humans, and kind to others.

"There are people that don't even deserve to have families," she said, glaring at the empty darkness, "and those people have families anyways, even though they don't love the families they have. And then there are people who'd give anything for a family, and we don't get them. Don't you think you could be a little kinder? Stupid Fate. Why don't you have a personification? If you did, I'd make your suffering worse than Alfred's."

She longed for a family, and she wondered if it were possible that, had she been 'normal', she would have been able to achieve the goal of finding a family.

"But I am evil," she said. "The person that I am was created to be evil. I was born like that. It's not my fault, except maybe it is. Maybe I wouldn't be a bad person if… It's not my fault! It's _not_!"

She never cried when others could see her, and she rarely cried even when she was alone. But she knew she was evil, knew she was insane, and although she tried not to care, it still hurt. She could not achieve the goal of being 'normal'. And if she was not 'normal', then she could not have happiness. Happiness was not allowed for those who were evil, different, corrupted.

She had not known until the collapse of the world exactly what she was. She had known that she was a nation, like the others, but she had not quite understood the urges she got when she was around other nations, especially America. Sometimes, in those days, she had remained calm. At other times, however, there had been a voice in her head, a voice that told her horrible things, and yet, things that she liked.

_"You are better than them. You are stronger, and you will conquer all of them one day. You hate them all. You want to kill them for hurting you. You will kill them one day. Have patience, little Panem. Grow strong. Then you can kill those people."_

The voice had told her those things, and she had not realized until much later that the whispers in her head were born out of her people's minds.

The people who were her government had found her after the collapse had started, when the sea started rising. She was still little, having remained physically around thirteen for a very long time prior to the day when the men had come and take her away. She had gone with them, she had thought she could trust them. But she soon realized that their wish all along had been to kill her kin, the other nations, and although this was also her desire, it frightened her to realize that the voice in her head had been the wishes of her people, personified in a single frightening voice.

She did not like the men who governed her citizens. They frightened her. They allowed her to have her revenge because it suited their purpose, because they knew of the existence of personified nations and wanted the former personifications to die.

But she were to disobey their orders, they would lock her up and torture her into submission. They had made this clear when she had mentioned Latvia, when she had said that she wanted to keep that particular person for herself.

She was not allowed to have companionship. She was not 'human'. They had told her this, told her that she was better than that weak former personification. But they had given in a little, in the end. It was supposed to help her adjust to her new life.

They had given her five years with him. After those five years, when the now-human Raivis Galante reached the human age of twenty, she would have to kill him with her own hands. And then she would be alone again for the rest of eternity.

She only had five years, and yet, she already knew that it would not be enough, that it would take far longer than that before she was ready to let go of Latvia.

She needed him. He made her feel almost human, and although she knew that she was evil, that evil and inhumanity were a part of her, she longed for the normalcy that being around him gave her.

She had been happy for a brief moment, sitting next to Latvia, leaning over him, kissing him. But she had seen the tears in his eyes, the agony on his face, and she knew that he did not love her. He despised her, hated what she had done to him, and, more than that, he hated the fact that he was powerless to defeat her.

"Could you ever love me, Raivis?" she asked, once again addressing the darkness. "W-would you, if things had been different?"

She wondered if she could have protected him, shielded him. She had comforted him once, but it had done little good, for when he had cried in her arms, he had spoken of things which had taken place long ago, things which could not be reversed.

He had spoken of the torment he had undergone during the Soviet occupation. And she, as a child, had been first horrified, then sickened, and then, the sickness she felt had twisted into a desire to avenge the wrongs done to one Raivis Galante, her sole friend in the world.

It was for this reason that she wished to locate Russia. She would locate the man and punish him for hurting Latvia. And perhaps then, when she had murdered the man who had tormented him, Latvia would love her.

She knew he would not, for he was pure and kind and he loved even Estonia, who had also hurt him. And so of course he had already forgiven Russia.

But she clung to the hope of winning his love, somehow, so that she would not be alone forever in a tormented darkness.

"You've gotta work with me, Raivis," she murmured. "I only have five years. When five years is no more… Then you'll have to die. It's gonna hurt, so please give me a little happiness before you go. P-please… Don't leave me alone… With no good memories to hold onto."

* * *

In the empty darkness that came between one day and the next, England lay awake and listened to America cry.

He wished that it could be stopped, wished to end his brother's suffering, but he did not know how to do it. He was not sure that he _could_ end America's suffering, even if he had all his magic back.

Nonetheless, he sat up, searching for America in the darkness.

"Alfie?"

"Go to sleep, England," America murmured. "Staying awake isn't gonna help."

"Well, it's not going to help you if I go to sleep, either," England said, finally locating America, sitting down next to his brother. "Being alone isn't particularly comfortable, Alfred. Now what's wrong?"

"I'm scared," America whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm scared that Panem will kill someone, and I won't be able to stop it. She… She's torturing _everyone_, Iggs. She's increasing everyone else's torture, but she hasn't touched you in who knows how long. And… I don't want her to kill you or anybody else!"

England stayed silent for a moment. He knew America's words to be true, in a sense. Panem had not touched him or even spoken to him for far too long. She was planning something, perhaps saving him for a most brutal torture. That thought frightened him, but he also accepted it, knowing that perhaps he could save the others from a terrible agony.

"But this is the end of the world, America," he said. "We are going to die one day anyways. And I know that is not what you want to hear. I do not want to think about that, either. But it is a possibility we must be prepared for. It may be that we will not survive."

He smiled sadly, knowing that America could not see him in the darkness.

"Even so… If anyone must die, I hope that it _will_ be me. I would rather die than see anyone else killed. I know that that will hurt you, Alfred, perhaps more than you can stand being hurt… But, please. For my sake, attempt to accept my death, if I am to die. It will be better for everyone."

"But I don't want you to leave," America said, and he sounded like a frightened child in the dark.

"I don't want to leave either, America," England said. "But sometimes you don't have a choice about the leaving. It has to happen eventually."

America leaned against him, and he tensed, wondering why it was that the boy would voluntarily allow himself to be comforted. But then, this was prison, and it might well be that he was near the end of his life. America knew that as well as he did, and the boy's fear was unmistakable.

"Don't leave me, big brother," America said, and England could only shake his head.

"I don't have a choice, Alfred," he said. "And I am telling you to…"

"Damn it!"

America sat bolt upright, turned to England, shook him and shouted at him in the dark.

"Arthur, I am _not going to accept it_! I refuse to accept it! There! Now shut up and don't you dare die! _Idiot_!"

America was crying, and England felt guilty for not comforting the boy. He had tried to reconcile America to the inevitability of their deaths, and it had not worked. And all he could do now was try to comfort his brother as he had failed to before.

He reached out to America, and America came to him like the child that he still was deep inside, shaking and sobbing, and England could only hold his little brother and wish that these events could be reversed.

"Forgive me, Alfred," he said. "It was wrong of me to say that. It may be that we will escape this prison. Who can say? But no matter what, even if I die, you will not be alone. There are others here who care for you; others who will protect you."

"I don't want to be protected," America said. "Stupid England. Protection is the last thing I want."

"Then protect the others," England said. "If I die in protecting you…in protecting the others…then you can take my place."

_"Don't let me die. If I die… No one will be able to save Alfred. He won't let anyone else protect him then."_

America was still sobbing, harder now, and England did not have the strength or presence of mind to comfort his brother with words.

He held America until the boy fell asleep. Then he laid America on the floor, wishing for light so that he could see his little brother's face.

There was no light here, but he reached out, stroked America's hair, felt the awkwardness of his own mangled fingers and knew that he could not protect America from his demons.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not a particularly useful older brother. Older brothers are supposed to protect their siblings. I can't do that. But if I can die for you, Alfred… No matter what it will do to your mind, all that matters is that you survive. So if I can… I will die for you. I will protect you. You really ought to accept that. It would make things much less complicated."

* * *

Japan waited all through the day, and far into the night, grateful that Italy was finally asleep, and appeared to be intending to stay asleep for some time. He hoped the boy would not wake up, and he hoped that Panem would not come.

He got both his wishes, for it was now nearly morning, and Panem had not yet come.

"She will come today," he said to the dark cell and to the sleeping Italy. "She will come, and she will hurt one or both of us. I… I do not know if I can stop her from hurting Italy. But I have to_. I have to_. Somehow I have to make sure that he will not be hurt. How can I do it?"

He had not slept since he had been captured, had spent almost two days sitting alone in his cell, not speaking and not moving.

Italy had woken once, but had quickly succumbed to sleep again, and for this, Japan was grateful. The waiting tortured him, haunting him with the thought of the agony to come, and he did not want Italy to share in that mental anguish.

"She said China was here," he murmured to the darkness. "I must find him. I must see my brother. And I must protect Italy. I may have to protect China as well, if… If he has been hurt here. How can I do it? I… I am not strong like Germany or China. How can I hope to protect anyone?"

He wanted nothing more than to withdraw inside his own mind, to hide there in the silence, where Panem could not reach him. But if Panem could not reach him, neither could Italy. And Italy would need him. Italy was a child, a child who did not fully understand what was happening, and Japan would have to try to protect that child.

He glanced at Italy, and smiled sadly.

"She will come in the morning," he said. "Sleep well, Italy. It may be the last peaceful night's sleep you will get."

_"But not if I can stop Panem from torturing him. If I can keep him safe… Then he may live to sleep peacefully once again."_

* * *

**OK, so this is basically a filler chapter. However, next chapter, things are going to get interesting. The end of the first half of this story is approaching, ladies and gentlemen. (Are there any gentlemen in this fandom? I don't know if I know any male Hetalia fans...) Anyways, the first half of the story is almost over, so things are going to start escalating in the next few chapters.**

**As previously stated, this story is going to be divided into two parts. Since part one has taken me over six months to write, and it's still not over, I am planning to take a short hiatus upon part one's conclusion. The hiatus will be no longer than two months, at which point I will return and write the second half of the story. I'll be planning out the second half during the hiatus. So yeah. I'm hoping to finish up the first half around November, so that I can resume writing around January 1st. **

**That bulletin over, some story notes:**

**Estonia's "angel and demon" analogy is purely in his head, and in no way connects to his actual fate. However, he finds it an extremely plausible idea, since, in his mind, both Lithuania and Latvia are far better people than he can ever be. Therefore, since they are 'good' people, they are angels, and since he is a 'bad' person, he is a demon. He's starting to believe this, although he really does know deep inside that it's all in his head.  
**

**Panem... Basically speaks for herself. I think that her 'government' has been plotting a world takeover for a long time, and when the sea started rising, they took the opportunity to take over. They know of the existence of personified nations, and want the old nations killed so that they cannot become immortal nations again and pose an obstacle to Panem. Basically. **

**Other than that, I think the rest of the chapter is pretty straightforward, so I'll shut up now.**

**Next week, things are going to get interesting. So I'll see you all then! :) **


	29. Fatal Choice

**Hey, guys! So, this chapter is really long, but I didn't want to split it into two parts, since it's a pretty important event in the story, and it's going to impact certain of the imprisoned nations quite a bit. **

**That being said, do enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Fatal Choice

America cried when they took him away. He knew what was coming, but he did not know who it was that would be tortured, or if he would have to torture that person. He hoped desperately that he would not, that he would only have to watch, and he immediately felt selfish for wishing that he would not be tortured by having to inflict anguish on another human being. He deserved the pain. He deserved every bit of the pain that had been inflicted until now, both his own pain and the others'. He deserved to take all of that pain into his heart, and he deserved to be destroyed by it.

All the same, he hoped selfishly that he would not have to hurt anyone else. Estonia's screams still haunted him, and he knew that they would haunt him forever. It was much worse this way, knowing that he, and he alone, was responsible for a child's torment. He had tortured Estonia; he had not simply brought about the torment. It was a personal thing.

As they marched down the hallway, Panem glanced at him, her expression a mixture of contempt and disbelief.

"You're pathetic," she said flatly. "Absolutely pathetic."

"I know," America whispered. "Please don't make me hurt anyone else. I c-can't do that. I can't. I'll _die_ if you make me…"

"You won't die, Alfred," Panem said, smiling at him. "No matter what I make you do, you won't die. Not until I'm ready to release you, that is."

"If you try to make me kill someone, then yeah, _I will die_," America said.

Panem laughed.

"I don't think so," she said. "I wouldn't let you. You do realize that I am far smarter than you are, don't you? I've already outthought your little plan to die rather than kill someone else. I've already outwitted you, Alfred, and you'll see soon what I have in store for you."

She grinned wickedly, and continued down the hallway. He had no choice but to follow, trying not to beg, trying not to plead with her. Pleading would do no good, and, indeed, it would probably make everything worse.

She led him to the room where he had tortured Estonia, and he knew, even before Panem opened the door, that a similar scene was going to take place. He also knew that he could not do it, not to a child, and not to China or England. But it would not be China, nor Belarus, nor Estonia. They had had their turns. And if it was not England…

It was Iceland, and America had not even really known that the Nordic was there. Estonia had mentioned him, but America had not thought about it, had not asked what torture the young Nordic had been placed under.

Iceland was thin, pale, and he looked as if someone had been beating him. His clothes were dirty and torn, and America could only imagine what had been done to the Icelandic boy.

He was almost afraid to ask, afraid of what he would learn. He did not want to know what Panem had already done to Iceland, not when he was going to be forced to add to the boy's torment.

"America…" Iceland said, and his voice was _so broken_. It was almost worse than Estonia, because Estonia had broken slowly, and America had watched him. With Iceland, it seemed as if the boy had broken all at once, and now America was left to torture those broken remains.

He had not watched Iceland break. He had come in today and found a broken creature kneeling on the floor, and he was expected to crush that broken thing even further.

"Hey, Iceland," he murmured, desperate eyes darting toward Panem, who smirked.

"Don't get attached, Eirikur," she said. "In a moment, you'll wish you'd never met my brother."

"Don't," America whispered, staring at her. "I _can't_. Please, Panem, I can't do that again…"

"Yes, you can," Panem said. "If you don't, I will kill one of your precious friends. I will _kill_ one of them. Do you want that, Alfred? Do you want your friends to die for this worthless, selfish brat?"

America was taken aback by the hate in her voice, confused by the fact that it was directed at Iceland, who had surely done nothing to anger Panem. He turned to the Nordic boy, and he saw tears on Iceland's pale face.

"It's because I did not care about my family," Iceland whispered. "She hates me because I was cruel to them."

_"So… He _was _cold to them. But how can she hate him for it? I did the same thing! I was worse! I sort of callously declared independence and walked away while my brother was crying… Even if I was leaving… I could still have comforted him. I should have. I'm far worse than Iceland. And he's just a kid… He didn't know any better. He just wanted to be an adult, right? That's…kind of how I felt, once."_

"That's no reason for her to hurt you," America said. "She's crazy, Iceland. Don't believe her. _Please_ don't believe her."

_"I don't want you to hate yourself like I do. It hurts way too much, knowing that you're responsible for so much pain."_

"While I find this soap opera rather entertaining," Panem said, "I'd much rather see a bit of a horror film. So, Alfred. You'll need this…"

She handed him a knife. It looked like Belarus's, long and deadly, and America hated the weapon even before his hands touched it, not because it was like Belarus's weapon, but because Russia had once used Belarus's knives to do something horrible to Lithuania. The Baltic nation had told him, a long time ago. And Latvia had probably told Panem, if Latvia had known what Russia had done to Lithuania. America had never been sure how much the tiny Baltic knew. He was not sure even now, but at that moment, it did not matter.

"I'd like to see a bit of blood," Panem said. "So, do see how our dear Iceland enjoys playing with knives, why don't you?"

Iceland was trembling, shuddering, and America hated himself and Panem for bringing a once-proud boy to this, for reducing this person to a shivering child.

"I'm sorry, Ice," he said. "You gonna be okay?"

_"I'm so sorry. I can never take what I'm going to do back. I can't make it right. I'm sorry… Don't hate me…"_

Iceland's violet eyes were wide, and America saw torment in those eyes, and knew that Iceland had already been hurt far too much, although he was not as far gone as Estonia, not yet.

"No," Iceland whispered. "I am not 'okay'. Please kill me now."

_"Those hurting eyes…that voice…those words… Lithuania… I can't…"_

"I can't hurt him," he whispered. Iceland's pain reminded him of Lithuania and of Estonia, and he could not possibly hurt a child who reminded him of his friends. Not again. Not after he had beaten Estonia and seen the horrible results.

He had held Lithuania while the brunet Baltic cried, and he was not going to hurt someone who begged for death as Lithuania once had. Only love could fix that, only love could heal the hurt that led someone to that kind of despair, and he could not harm someone who was already in the depths of despair, and yet still retained some vestige of humanity.

Iceland's image wavered, replaced by Estonia, replaced by Lithuania, and America knew that he could not hurt the Nordic boy. He would break down if he did-he was crying even now. He could not torture Iceland. He could not even try.

And yet he had to turn the knife on someone. To fail to obey Panem was to kill someone else, and he could not do that. He could not let anyone die. But he could not hurt Iceland, not now. He could not live knowing how many people he had hurt.

He turned, brandishing the knife, and although he had intended to plunge the knife into his own heart, his plan changed as he saw Panem, his little sister, and yet the cause of all this pain. And although he knew she was his sister, although he knew that she was a child whom he had broken, it was not the broken child whom he saw now.

He saw the monster who had murdered Lithuania, who had broken Iceland, Belarus, and Estonia, who had tortured England and China, and who had made Latvia her own against his will. He saw a monster who had destroyed his world, and he hated her.

America would have plunged the blade into Panem's heart had she not moved. But move she did, lunging to the side. The knife went into her arm, and she laughed as the blood spurted from the wound.

"Good try, Alfred," she giggled. "But not good enough. Oh, that does feel nice, though…"

She smiled, closed her eyes for a moment, and America knew then, with deadly certainty, that his sister was truly insane.

He pulled the blade from her arm, intending to try again, but her bodyguards were there, and he, a mortal human, could not fight both of them. Panem was still smiling, but there were tears in her eyes, and he knew that he had hurt her. The blood ran red from her arm, and for a moment, he remembered.

_"Big brother? This hurts."_

_He did not turn to look at her. He was too busy with the papers in front of him, or so he pretended. In reality, it was his cell phone which he refused to pull his gaze from._

_"What hurts, sis?"_

_His preoccupation must have shown in his voice, for, suddenly, something struck him in the side of the head. _

_"Hey! Perri, what the hell?"_

_He turned to look at her, saw a small thirteen year old glaring at him. There were tears in her eyes, and there was pain on her face, pain that was far greater than any pain that ought to have come from her bloodied knee. _

_"I fell off my bicycle!" she spat, hate in her voice. "Not that you would care! You wouldn't care if I hung myself right now, damned Alfred!"_

_"Don't swear at me," he muttered. "And I would so care if you hung yourself."_

_"No, you wouldn't," she said. "If you cared, you would have looked at me when I said I was hurt. But, no. I have to hurt you to make you look at me. I guess I'll just have to hurt you more and more, until it's impossible for you to forget me."_

"Perri…" he whispered, and she looked at him, tears in her eyes and laughter in her expression, and he realized that she, too, remembered that day.

"Do you see me now, Alfred?" she asked. "Do you remember me? Will you forget me again? Or have I made a fitting mark?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and she laughed.

"Of course, Alfie," she said. "We all are. But you are the most sorry of us all, for you…have just killed a nation."

"No…" he whispered, horror chilling his heart and sending him to his knees. "No, please! No! I'm sorry, I'll do whatever you want, just _don't kill them_!"

Panem knelt in front of him, blood still dripping from her arm. As she looked into his eyes, he saw suffering there, but he also saw triumph and a mad joy.

"You know something, Alfred?" she asked, reaching out to stroke his hair. "You're too late. You killed all of them on the day you decided to neglect me, to cast me aside as if I meant nothing to you. I will kill your friends, one by one, because of what you did to me back then. But you have just made it so that one of them will die today, at this very hour. I hope you're proud."

"Please…"

She turned away, grinning, insanity in her voice. She smiled at Iceland, whose eyes were round, horrified. Then she bent down and released him from the chains which bound him to the walls.

The Nordic boy whimpered, and Panem laughed.

"I'm not going to kill you, Eirikur," she said. "Not right now. It wouldn't have the desired effect. I want this to be as painful as possible for America… Shocking, you know? Don't worry. You'll live."

She turned toward the doorway, where the red-haired soldier boy stood at attention.

"Get your men, and get the others," she said. "I want all of them to see this. Let them all see, and let them know that America, once the world's strongest nation, is not their hero. He is a weak fool, a monster, and it is he who has murdered a nation today!"

America started to cry aloud, begging Panem as loudly as he dared to please call it off, to let him torture Iceland. Anything but this, anything but his own stupidity…

She did not hear his cries. She merely smiled, knelt in front of him again, and looked into his eyes, electric blue meeting emerald. The torment in her eyes mirrored his own.

"You sealed your friend's fate, Alfie dear," she said. "Now watch as someone you love dies. Maybe then you will understand the pain I feel, without love. You who have love, begin to lose it now. I do not envy you the pain you will feel… But I will not release you from that pain. This is your just punishment. This is punishment for all those who scorned the nation of Panem. Let them see that I am strong. Let them see that you are worthless."

* * *

Italy had awoken hours before, and Japan himself had nearly drifted off to sleep by this time, so desperate was he to get away from the boy's chatter. He understood that Italy somehow fed off of talking to others, but he did not have the energy to talk to anyone now. He wanted to withdraw inside himself, but if he happened to be tortured while hiding inside his own mind, he was not sure that he would ever be able to reemerge.

He had begun to drift away, not into his mind, but into a more friendly darkness, that of sleep. Then the door opened, and a man in a soldier's uniform was shouting for them to get up.

Panem was not there. This was the first thing that Japan noticed as the soldier dragged him from the prison cell. Italy came readily, his eyes wide with curiosity, and Japan wanted to shout that there was nothing to be curious about, that they might be going to their deaths.

He did not dare shout. He was not sure that he even possessed the ability to raise his voice to such a level. And so he let the soldier pull him into the corridor. There were other soldiers there, but the soldier holding his arm ignored them, dragging Japan down the long hallway, into a concrete room where Iceland sat crumpled on the floor, where America stood with tears running down his face and agony in his eyes.

"Amer…"

He cut himself off as America turned to look at him. The blond boy's face crumpled, and Japan saw not the cocky nation he had once known, but a terrified, broken little boy.

"I'm sorry," America whispered, his voice agonized and broken. This frightened Japan, for he had never seen brave, strong America like this, crying and broken. It was horrible.

The soldier holding his arm hurled him on the floor, and Japan managed to pull himself to his knees, wincing. His leg still throbbed painfully where he had been shot, for Panem had done nothing to heal his injury. Italy sat down next to him, edged closer to him, and Japan wanted to withdraw into his mind. Something horrible was about to happen-he could feel it. And yet he did not know what was happening. That frightened him, and he needed to escape…

Another soldier entered the room. This one, too, was dragging a nation with him, but Japan did not recognize the other man until the soldier threw him down. The other nation slammed into the concrete floor, gasping as his body made impact, and as the small man regained his composure, Japan recognized him.

It was China. Japan had not realized it as first, for in the half-light of the prison, China looked much different than he had the last time Japan had seen him, just before the explosion.

He realized after a moment that it was not simply the poor light that had brought about a change in China. The older nation was thin-too thin, far thinner than any of the other prisoners-and he looked exhausted.

"China?" It came out as a question, almost as a plea. He did not want this. He did not want to see China like this.

China looked up at him, and in his brother's honey-colored eyes, Japan saw a deep exhaustion and an agony which frightened him like nothing he had yet seen in this prison. He could perhaps stand it if he were to break, if Italy were to break, if anyone else were to break. But _China_… China was not allowed to be anything but strong and wise and… China looked _so tired_.

"Japan?" China whispered, and Japan thought for a moment that his brother was about to cry.

He nodded, for he had no words, and, it seemed, neither did China. The small man seemed very weak, but he threw his arms around Japan, and although he wanted to pull away, he did not. China was shaking, and it seemed to be a completely involuntary shaking, not one born of fear. Japan held onto his brother for a moment, and he realized then how little China weighed now. His brother was beginning to resemble a skeleton, gaunt and tired.

He realized then what Panem had done to China, and he felt anger beginning to build inside of him. Had he been able to walk at that moment, he would have left the room, would have gone to Panem, and he would have found some way to punish her for starving his brother.

But feeling China shivering in his arms, he knew he could not leave. He also knew that to anger Panem would be to bring death, perhaps not on himself, but more likely on China or Italy.

"She is starving you, isn't she?" Japan murmured, and China would not look at him once he uttered those words.

"You can tell?"

"It does not take much observation," he said, and he felt guilty then, for admitting how obvious it was that China was dying.

China lowered his gaze further, and in that gesture, Japan saw the pain that his brother must be in.

"It will be all right," he said.

China looked up at him for a moment, then, a faint smile hovering on his tired face.

"Are you the oldest now?" he asked. "I am not so weak as that, aru. You do not have to reassure me, nor do you have to help me. I am not dead yet."

Japan nodded, but he still kept a firm grip on China, not daring to let the older man go for fear that he would dissolve in front of him.

"How did she catch you?" China asked, his gaze terribly sad.

Japan winced, his leg throbbing more than ever.

"I made a mistake," he said. "It is my fault."

China's eyes held no malice, only acceptance and the same quiet sadness.

"I made a mistake too," he said. "We should both have fought harder. But it is over now. We can do little else but care for the others."

"You…" Japan could not bring himself to say the words, to admit that China was starving to death. It was plain to see, and China knew it too. Japan could see the truth in his brother's eyes.

China smiled at him, and a little of the calm, strong warmth that Japan remembered returned to his eyes.

"I missed you, Japan," China said. "I… I am glad you are alive, even if you are here. Perhaps you can still escape."

"Perhaps," Japan said. He fell silent then, but he felt China leaning against him, and was comforted by his brother's presence, although it also saddened him.

China was too weak to survive much longer without food. That much was apparent even now. Kneeling there, with his brother leaning against him, Japan could not help but wonder when he would lose China again.

"The others are dead," China whispered faintly. "Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong at least are dead."

Japan nodded.

"I thought it would be so," he said. "It…it is probably better for them."

China looked up at him with sad eyes.

"They cannot escape if they are dead."

"No…" Japan said. "I suppose not."

_"What if death is the only escape?"_

* * *

America saw Japan and Italy through uncomprehending eyes, barely registering their presence beyond the knowledge that he had failed, he had failed so terribly, and now more nations had been captured to play in Panem's nightmare game.

Then the soldiers dragged Belarus in. The girl was kicking and screaming, fighting the guards, but America saw her face and knew that she was fighting from hysteria, from desperation, and not because she refused to come quietly.

_"They can't kill _her_! They…they can't… They can't kill anyone! I don't want anyone to die!"_

The soldiers tried to subdue Belarus, and as America watched, still sobbing, one of them struck her in the face. The other had produced handcuffs from somewhere on his person, and America saw the sheer panic in Belarus's eyes.

He crossed the room almost before he knew that he was moving. He did not think of what he was doing, only of the fact that Belarus was even more afraid than he was, and that she needed to be saved.

Even worthless heroes had a wish to save others engrained in them, and it was this wish that led him to Belarus now.

"Don't tie her up," he said. "You'll scare her more. I'll take her-she'll calm down for me."

The soldiers exchanged glances, and America saw in their eyes that neither of the men wanted any more to do with the hysterical Belarusian girl.

"Fine," one of the soldiers said at last. "You take her. But if she doesn't shut up, she'll be punished later."

America nodded, and he thought he had never seen the soldiers leave so fast. Belarus stood shivering in front of him, tears running down her face. He realized at that moment that she was still only wearing a bra.

He took off his jacket.

"Look, you've gotta wear something," he said. "There are way too many guys in this room right now, okay? It's awkward."

She looked at him, uncomprehending, her dark blue eyes full of pain and fear.

"They're not gonna hurt you," he said, although he was not sure that she would not be hurt. "It's gonna be okay. Put on the jacket now."

She did not move, merely stared at him, and he had no choice but to lift her arms, pull the jacket sleeves over them, marveling at how fragile she seemed, cold and thin like ice on a pond just before the spring thaw.

She was like ice that was about to crack.

Belarus tried to pull away from him, but he held her steady with one arm, attempting to button the jacket with the other. She stayed still for a few seconds, and in those precious moments, he managed to finish buttoning the jacket.

"There we go," he said. "It's a little bit big, but it's okay, right, Natalya?"

Her dull eyes looked up at him, and he took her hand and made her sit down against the wall. Near the door sat Italy, Japan, and China. Italy turned his head, smiled and waved at America, and the blond boy had to wonder if Italy understood what was happening. He almost hoped that the Italian was as oblivious as he seemed.

Maybe that would make the torture less painful.

China looked as if he were about to fall asleep, leaning on Japan, who sat motionless with his arms around his older brother. America thought that this was the calmest he had ever seen Japan when confronted with such a situation, but he noticed that the dark-haired man was shaking, his fists clenched as he held China, and he knew that Japan was far from all right.

None of them would ever be all right again. And it was his fault.

"Alf…red?"

He looked down at Belarus, saw her staring at him with tears on her face and a half-mad anguish in her eyes, and he could not forget that he had doomed her to this horrible fate.

And he had doomed someone in this room to certain death. The others were all here now, and England was by his side, grim-faced.

"Alfie? What happened?"

For the third time that day, America started to cry.

_"I've just gotten someone killed. Panem is going to murder another nation. And this time it really _is_ my fault."_

"Alfred?" England was still there, his emerald eyes sparking. "Alfred, I need you to tell me what is happening!"

"Your little brother has made a very stupid mistake," said Panem. "That's what's happened. And now, England, someone is going to pay for what your precious America has done."

America watched as England took in the bloody bandage that was now wrapped around Panem's arm. When the blond man turned back to him, there was understanding in his eyes.

"You attacked her," England murmured.

"He wouldn't hurt me," Iceland contributed numbly.

"S-she wanted me to do to him what I did to Estonia," America whimpered. "I can't, I'm sorry, I was gonna kill her but she's too fast…"

"You knew I already tried," said Estonia himself. The blond boy was sitting on the floor near America. Latvia was practically on his lap, his head resting on Estonia's shoulder. It would have seemed normal a few decades earlier, but now, seeing Estonia apparently comforting Latvia, America almost felt confused despite his fear. Latvia was supposed to be the strong one now, and yet there he was, sitting on Estonia's lap.

"She can't be killed," Estonia continued. "It was stupid of you to try."

"I know," he murmured, looking away from all of them. "I'm sorry."

"Every hero makes mistakes," said Belarus' fragile, shaking voice. "A-ask Estonia."

"I'm not a hero," Estonia said, stroking Latvia's hair. "Sometimes I'm not sure there is such a thing."

"You are a hero, Eddy," Latvia said, his voice soft and tired. "And Mr. America too. It's gonna be okay."

"It's gonna be okay," Panem's voice mocked. She smiled sadistically at the group of nations, who were now all huddled together along one wall. There were, America realized, nine of them now, with the addition of Japan and Italy.

"You're all pathetic," Panem continued. "And pathetic things don't deserve to live on this earth. Do they?"

America lowered his head, sinking to his knees, taking Belarus with him. The girl was shaking even with his jacket on to warm her, and he too began to tremble, not with cold, but with fear.

_"Who will she kill? N-not Belarus, not England… Please, don't kill anyone! _I'm sorry_!"_

"You're all going to die soon," Panem said. "All of you. But some will die sooner than others."

Her gaze roved to Latvia, who closed his wide violet eyes and turned his head away. Estonia was still stroking the boy's hair, and America wondered what Panem had done. For once, Latvia seemed like a child. Perhaps he was simply exhausted, but even that seemed odd, considering the two Baltic boys' living quarters, and the obvious fact that Latvia was exempt from torture.

"You know that America's mistakes led you here."

Latvia shook his tiny head, mouthing the words 'my fault', and America did not understand why.

"And it is a further mistake of his that has led to what will take place today." Panem grinned. "Now… Who wants to die?"

There was dead silence for a long moment. Then, Panem laughed.

"I thought England or China was going to volunteer."

"We…don't have a choice," China said, his voice weak. "You have already decided, aru."

"It's better we don't get our hopes up." England's voice was choked. "You're not going to kill us. You'd get no pleasure from it. We wouldn't scream for you, so… You won't kill us yet."

"You old nations do have some smarts in there, huh?" Panem asked. "Well, you're right. I'm not going to kill either of you. So… Japan. I suppose I'll have to drag you over here, since you can't seem to walk on your own."

_"Oh god, no... No! This can't be happening! I want to wake up from this nightmare… I have to wake up… This…this can't be real. What have I done?!"_

* * *

It was odd, Japan thought, that he did not cry. America burst into hysterical sobs when Panem uttered his name, and there were gasps from several of the other nations. Italy turned to him with wide, terrified eyes, and China clung to him and would not let go.

"You're not going," China announced. "I won't let you."

"Yes, you will," Japan said, and he was again surprised by how calm his own voice sounded. "Let go of me, China. Let go now."

"No!"

Italy blinked at him, looking almost on the verge of tears.

"Japan, what does she mean?"

"She is going to do something to me," Japan said. "And you are going to deny what she does the way you denied Germany's death. That is the easiest thing for you, so deny my death and Germany's and keep your hope and sanity. Will you do that?"

"She's going to kill you?" Italy asked. "No! I don't want that to happen! You said you'd protect me, so you can't…"

"I_ am_ protecting you," Japan said. "I am protecting you with my death. But Italy, I want you to forget that I was ever in prison with you. I am somewhere with Germany, all right? I have been with him all along, and perhaps we are coming to rescue you. You… Forget my presence in this place. I never came to this prison, nor did I die here."

"W-what are you talking about?" Italy wailed. "You say you're going to die and you say you're not here and honestly Japan you're not making any sense!"

"Hush, Italy," Japan said. "I know you do not understand. You will forget all of this very soon. Trust me. It will be fine. Now… Let me go, both of you. China, Italy… I need to go."

He tried to loosen China's grip, shocked once again by how thin and yet strong his brother's trembling hands were.

"You are making this unnecessarily hard," he said. "Be reasonable, China. You cannot stop her. And…it is better that I die, yes? Better me than Italy."

China moaned, a quiet, anguished sound, but he pulled away. For a moment, honeyed eyes met dull brown ones, and China's eyes filled with tears, while Japan's did not.

"Tell the others I will see them soon," China whispered. "It…it will be soon. You know it will."

"Yes," Japan said, and still his voice did not break, tears did not come to his eyes. "Farewell… Yao. I will see you in another life, or else in whatever comes after this."

China nodded, but as Japan turned to Italy, he saw tears rolling down China's thin cheeks and knew that his brother might well break now.

_"Please, do not let him break. Let him survive. Let him be happy again, let Italy be happy again. Let them leave this place. Dying is nothing to me, if they can leave this place alive."_

"You will be all right," he said. "Both of you. Now… Forget my existence. _Please_. And… Farewell."

And then, anxious to end the awkwardness and pain of the scene, he tried to stand, finding that it was agonizing to put weight on his injured leg, but also realizing that he could almost walk correctly.

He hobbled over to Panem, ignoring America's sobbing pleas in the background. There was nothing America could do for him, and he did not want America to help him anyways.

_"As selfish as it is… Death is better than what China has gone through. Death is better than what all of them have gone through. It is a coward's escape, I suppose, but I… I would rather die than be tortured."_

Then Panem kicked him. Japan went sprawling on the concrete floor, and he realized then that his death _was _torture.

* * *

America did not want to watch. He did not even want to think about what was happening. But he knew Panem's rules, knew that to refuse to watch would be to prolong any suffering that Japan might go through.

He had thought it unbearable to torture another nation, and yet he knew now that it was far worse to watch someone else die and know that their blood was on your hands.

He wondered if the others blamed themselves, and, looking around at them, he saw that China was crying silently; Italy staring wide-eyed at Panem and Japan. Latvia, alone exempt from punishment among all the nations, still sat on Estonia's lap, his eyes closed and his head turned away. But America saw the boy shaking, and he knew now that Latvia no longer shook from fear, but only from a terrible sadness. The tiny boy blamed himself for what had happened, and in that one way, America felt a kinship with him.

Unwillingly, he looked back at Japan, only to see the Asian man lying on the floor, only to see Panem still kicking him.

_"How long can anybody survive being kicked like that? Is it a long time? I don't… I don't even know if she can kill him like that. Can she? Will she make it worse? I… I don't want to see this… I… Somebody stop it!"_

For a moment, he realized exactly how Estonia must feel, with voices in his head constantly talking to him. For out of the depths of his despair, a dark voice rose in his mind, whispering. It was not a voice born of insanity, but one born out of desperate sadness, a voice born out of knowing one's own worthlessness.

_"You killed him, hero. You killed your friend, and you didn't just kill him. Everyone who dies by Panem's hand, human or nation... Their blood is on your hands. You did not save her. So you can save no one else."_

* * *

Every nation had been beaten at least once in history. Japan knew that some had been beaten like this many times. The two Baltic boys sitting against the wall were some of those nations, who had undergone repeated abuse of this kind at the hands of other nations.

But he would quite likely be the first nation to be beaten to death, and he did not like that feeling. It was not a dignified death, not a calm death, and it _hurt_. He did not like admitting to the fact that it hurt, but it did.

He did not want to be beaten like this, but he clenched his teeth and did not beg. He had already failed once, turning his back on Panem in the alleyway. He would not make the mistake of letting her win against him twice. He could at the very least die silently.

It did hurt, though, and he wondered how the fragile Baltics could ever have stood this kind of abuse from Russia, who had no doubt been far stronger than Panem. How could they have stood it if he could not?

Perhaps he was weaker than them. But he did not scream, did not cry, for a very long time, although Panem continued to kick him.

She never grew tired. Being the sole remaining nation, Japan supposed, gave Panem increased stamina, perhaps even superhuman strength. He did not know, but he did know that his whole body began to ache after a time, that every kick brought a fresh sense of agony.

He shut his eyes tightly, but he felt tears leak from behind his eyelids and hated that weakness, hated the fact that he could not even die silent and stone-faced. No, he had to cry, he had to let them all know that he was weak…

His consciousness started to fade, and he shut his eyes tighter, curled into a ball, tried to breathe.

He could not breathe. That was good, in a way. It meant that he would die soon, for if he could not breathe, he surely could not live. But it hurt, not being able to breathe, and he fought for breath, coughing, and finding blood on his hands a moment later.

_"Ah. So I will choke on my own blood? Not exactly dignified. Nothing about this is dignified or safe or calm. It is all terrifying. It would not be the end of the world were it not horrible. I… I will go to sleep now. I think it would be best."_

His eyes flickered to China and Italy. Both were crying now.

_"Forget this. Forget _me_. It is better that no one remember."_

Panem kicked him in the head. One, two, thr-

He was gone.

* * *

**So, yes. I think this is the first in-story death since the initial explosion, isn't it? I suppose that's rather a distinctive event, but even that is not really WHY it's distinctive, as you'll find out in the coming chapters.**

**I know that since Japan was just captured, Panem choosing to kill him may seem a little odd. Her basic reasoning was that he's already injured, he is America's friend, and she really had no plan for his capture and torture. All in all, she likes where she's headed with breaking Belarus, Iceland, and China, and she has reasons for not killing the others (yet). All in all, Japan seemed to her to be the perfect choice for a sacrifice, especially since he and America appear to be pretty good friends. She chose to beat him to death because it would be a prolonged torture, and because Japan is fairly small and frail to begin with, so beating him would take a while, but would not take forever. **

**So yeah. Next chapter will be a bit less...active? That's basically how it goes with this fic, I guess? Long action chapter, then short reaction chapter. xD Everything has to have a pattern. **


	30. Heaven and Hell

Chapter Thirty: Heaven and Hell

America went unresponsive once they were back in their cell, and all England could do was sit next to his brother and wait for the boy to speak.

He understood that America might not ever speak, might withdraw inside of his own mind and never return to the real world.

_"He's blaming himself again. And maybe it was his fault. Japan wouldn't be dead if he had tortured Iceland. It sounds so impersonal, stated that way. But for him, being there… No, it was nothing if not personal. He, personally, had to make a choice that no one, let alone a child, should have to make. No child should have to choose between torturing a friend and killing another friend. That is… That is too cruel for an adult to handle, let alone a child. And although Alfred has matured greatly here… He is still a child. I suppose he always will be in my eyes."_

"I-Iggy?"

America's voice sounded like it had when he was young, new to the world, and a bit scared behind his childlike, boisterous innocence.

"Yes?" England said, glancing over at the younger nation.

"I d-didn't dream that, did I?" America asked. There was a look in the young nation's eyes that begged England to say that it had all been a dream, that it was not real, that Japan was not dead.

England could not lie. Lies, however good they might seem at the present time, would do America no good in the long run. Lies would only hurt the boy more, and he could not let himself hurt America. This would hurt the boy either way, but it was better he know the truth than believe a lie.

"No, Alfie," he murmured. "You did not dream it. I am sorry."

America buried his head in his hands and started to cry. The boy was not a silent crier by any means, and his sobs echoed through the dark, bare prison cell, growing in pitch and volume until they sounded hysterical, perhaps even insane.

"America? America, calm down!" England shouted, and America looked up at him, sobbing, tears running down his face.

"I _killed him_! I killed Japan! Me, not Panem! You don't get it, stupid England, and I'm glad you don't! You were a good brother! You made mistakes, but you raised me right, at least! I didn't do that for Panem! I was stupid, I made her the way she is, and now… Now we're stuck in this nightmare! I… I created it. Me. Not Panem or Raivis or anyone else who thinks they're to blame. I was supposed to take care of her, but instead I neglected her! And this is my punishment. I get that. I _deserve_ to be punished. But you guys don't, and all of your blood is on my hands. Your blood and Panem's. I'm… I'm responsible for the deaths of the whole world."

"No, you're not," England said. "Panem's insanity is all of our faults. We ignored her. It was _not_ just you, America. If anyone else had shown her kindness…"

"Raivis showed her kindness!" America shrieked. "Raivis could have helped her, but none of us noticed that! He's just a kid! He shouldn't have been expected to notice the pain she was in when all of us adults didn't! Raivis isn't to blame! Raivis is the one person who almost saved her. All the rest of us just stood there and we let that little girl die! So maybe you guys helped, but I'm the one who killed her! I killed Perri Jones, don't you get it? Panem isn't Perri anymore. She's not that little girl anymore. She's a monster, and that's my fault. It's all my fault. All of the deaths…the torture…that's…all my fault…"

America fell silent then, and he pulled away into the corner of the room. Hugging his knees to his chest, the boy sobbed brokenly, seeming oblivious to England's presence.

"Alfie… I…"

He had nothing to say that comfort America. Looking at his younger brother, once the world's most confident nation, now reduced to a sobbing child, wiser now than he had been, and yet pitifully broken, England could not think of a single thing he could say to erase America's pain.

There might never be an escape, and as time passed, he found his own hope slipping. He had known from the beginning that they might die, but he had wanted to keep that knowledge from America, and, in doing so, he would have almost kept that knowledge from himself.

But seeing Japan die-that had changed things. That had made the nightmare real. They could die here, and they might well die before this was over. They might all die, and he, England, could not protect anyone else from death. He had stood there, helpless, and let Panem beat Japan to death because of his own fear of someone else joining the Asian man in death.

He had allowed Japan to die. And he saw now that this nightmare was deadly and real. They could die here. They probably would, for who could escape Panem?

He could not comfort America now, not without some doubt seeping into his words and further upsetting the boy.

Watching his brother cry, England wondered if it would be possible for Amercia to recover from this torment. Even if they did escape Panem, somehow, he was not sure that America would be able to forgive himself.

He was not sure that any of them would be able to forgive themselves for what they had unleashed on this world.

* * *

They left Italy alone in his cell, and he tried to deny what had happened until his head hurt, until tears ran down his cheeks.

"I don't know," he whimpered, tucking his knees up close to his chest. "I don't know if it's real or not. Japan said he wasn't real, so maybe he wasn't real… But he said it, so he must have been real, right?"

There was no one left to answer him. Japan was gone, although where he had gone, Italy was no longer sure. Germany was supposed to come for them, he thought, but it had been so long now, and still the Germanic nation had not returned.

"I wonder if…if I didn't dream it all up," Italy murmured. "I wonder if this _isn't_ a dream. M-maybe it's… No! No, it can't be real! I dreamed it!"

He hugged his knees, rocking back and forth. He already hated the dusky loneliness of the cell, and he wanted to get out. He would have done anything to get out of that cell, or at the very least to have had companionship there.

"It was better when dream-Japan was here," he said. "I wonder why he went away. I would have liked him to stay, since he was a good dream. B-but maybe real-Japan is with Germany! Yeah! They're both looking for me, and they'll come soon, and then the bad dream will be over! And we can go and eat pasta…or do something nice and not scary, anyways."

Italy smiled, leaning back against the wall. A moment later, however, a flicker of uncertainty entered his mind, and he hugged his knees again, shaking.

"Unless Panem was right, and they don't care. M-maybe only dream-Japan cared, and that's why real-Japan and real-Germany didn't come back for me. What if they're not coming back, ever? Would they do that? I d-don't think they would. But Panem is the real part of the dream, right? So maybe she's the only one who's right about anything... I… Wait… W-what am I saying?"

He closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment on a foreign flicker of warmth deep inside of him. This warmth and security was not his own emotion, and he did not know where it had come from. But he concentrated on it until his breathing slowed, his body relaxed, and a soft smile returned to his face.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered. "It _has_ to be okay. I-it _is_ okay. This is a bad place, but it's not_ so_ bad! Japan wasn't ever here-I dreamed about him and Germany dying, but it wasn't true! They're going to come and get me soon, and maybe Romano will be with them, and then we'll all be happy again! It's going to be okay. It will be okay! I know it will!"

Italy smiled, and then, curled into a ball, his back against the wall, the small Italian boy drifted off to sleep, having successfully denied the existence of his waking nightmare.

* * *

There are many different forms of a wish to die.

There are some who, standing on the edge of a bridge, or standing in front of their mirror, often with a gun to their head, reject the cruelty of the world they were born into, and, unable to bear it any longer, they fall from the bridge, they pull the trigger, and end their suffering.

There are others, however, who hold onto life even in the midst of their agony, in hopes of being able to save another's life. And when those lives are lost in front of that person who had wished to save them, that person often is forced to live with feelings of regret, unable to reconcile themselves to the fact that they have continued to live, while the person whom they would have protected has died.

Such an agony was not a strange one to personified nations, who had many times before felt it in the form of their citizens' feelings. But the suffering of living on when others died was made worse by the knowledge that you would soon weaken and die yourself.

China had not known that before. He could not forget it now. He had thought that his mind could not possibly become a more painful place, not now.

He had been wrong. Watching someone die in front of you was far worse than hearing their death described. He could perhaps have stood it without crying had he not watched it happen. As it was, he could not stop crying, and he blamed it on his weakened body, not wanting to admit how much this had shattered him.

Estonia was with him in his cell, and he did not know why the blond boy would not leave him. Estonia would be punished for staying; they both knew that. But the boy did not move, did not leave. He had come back with China, half-carrying him, and he had stayed far longer than he should.

"She won't come for me yet," Estonia said, as if reading his mind. "And the soldiers don't need me. I'm on her death list. It's…only a matter of time now. She didn't kill me today because… I don't know. I wish she had killed me. She took Raivis again. I don't know what she's doing to him. I'm…scared."

China said nothing, peering at Estonia through his fingers, tears still running down his face. He did not have the energy to comfort Estonia at this moment, and he knew, looking at the blond boy, that Estonia understood this.

"I'm sorry," Estonia whispered. "I wish it _had_ been me."

"That wouldn't have made it any kinder," China murmured. "It would only have rearranged the agony of it, aru. Different people would have been affected in different ways."

Estonia laughed. It was a quiet, bitter sound, one that spoke of brokenness and suffering.

"I doubt anyone would care that much. I hope they won't, when I go. I don't want to be missed. It… It's pointless to grieve, really, for someone like me. I never did anything worth remembering."

"You did," China said. "You…"

"Sentenced my entire family to insanity," Estonia said. "I know what I've done. That's not why I'm here right now. I don't want to argue about myself right now, China. I just… I don't want you to be alone now. I'm…worried about you."

"Do you really think that I would escalate my own starvation?" China asked, sitting up and staring straight at Estonia. "That is what you are asking, isn't it? Estonia… I am not going to reconcile myself to death just yet. I _cannot_ accept my own death or anyone else's. Which…makes this all the harder… Because I know I am going to die. My fate is sealed. I am dying, and yet I could not even sacrifice myself for Japan, who was still unbroken and could have lived."

_"He should have lived. He…might be the last one of my brothers and sisters. And now he's gone. This…is how it feels to lose your family? To know that they are gone forever? I…hate this feeling. I want to escape it. I cannot let go of this life yet. Estonia…needs me? If he did not need me, he would not have stayed with me. He is kind, but not _that_ kind."_

"I was worried about that, yes," Estonia said. "But… I didn't think you would really do it, China. That's… Giving up like that… Isn't like you. It's not something you would do. You're the kind of person who keeps on going, despite your pain. You…you're like Lithuania used to be, before Russia and I made him break. I didn't think you would starve yourself further, not on your own initiative. But… I… I lost my brother too. I didn't have to watch him die, not in person, not sitting a few feet away. When I watched the video of Lithuania's death, I knew it was already too late. But…you… You watched Toris die, didn't you? You watched as he was tortured and then left alone to die. And now you've watched Japan die, and… I just know I wouldn't want to be alone after seeing my little brother die while I was standing right in front of him!"

China turned to face Estonia, seeing sadness in the boy's blue eyes, and wishing desperately that Estonia were more selfish, that Estonia would go away and leave him in peace. He wanted nothing more than to cry and cry and never stop, but he also knew that this would upset Estonia deeply. He could not cry anymore now.

"Thank you, aru," he said. "I… I think that it might be better for Japan… Dying, that is. In this place, death may be the only escape. I…do not want to say that, but… If it _is_ the only way out, then Japan is safe with his siblings now. And that is what I want. I want them all to be safe somewhere, and if their afterlife is safe, then… It is better for them. It is better than they not have to suffer in a cruel world any longer."

His voice trembled, and he knew Estonia could hear that trembling weakness.

"E-even so… I wanted to save them…"

Estonia lifted him from the ground almost effortlessly, as if he were Latvia. He probably weighed less than the little boy did, now. China did not cry, did not protest. He was too tired to protest.

"You need to go to sleep," Estonia said.

"She will…"

"I will stay," Estonia said. "An hour will pass, and Panem will be through with Raivis and will come back for me. I will wake you before I leave. But you…you have lost your brother. I know what it's like to _kill_ my own brother. That is a feeling that I can never forget. But I also know what it is like to stand powerless as my brother is murdered. I've seen that before. I wouldn't want to be alone if Panem had just killed Raivis in front of me. And…I don't want to be alone…now. I don't want to think 'it should have been me, why didn't I die' over and over again. I'm selfish, and I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. I'm not alone if you're here. You don't have many chances to rest and forget. So rest now. I…I want you to forget the pain for a little while. My demons follow me into sleep now. But you…don't have voices in your head. Sleep is an escape, an escape which she is denying you. So sleep. Dream. Forget. Please."

China's last thought as he closed his eyes what that when Estonia asked him to forget, the quiet, introverted, awkward blond boy sounded like Japan.

* * *

"I killed him."

Iceland whispered those three words over and over to the darkness, as if it would make them less real, or would perhaps reverse what had been done.

_"If I had just told America to hit me… Then… Japan wouldn't have died_. I_ might have-I'm not sure I could have taken being cut open. Maybe I wouldn't be here now, if I had just told America to torture me. But I am here. Japan is not. It's my fault. I… I… Why wasn't I stronger?"_

His pride, retained even in the midst of his despair, was now turning into self-hatred at the knowledge that he, with his weakness, had doomed another nation to the pain of death.

"I killed him."

_"And so did America. But if I had told America to hit me, to cut me, then… No one would have died. Except, perhaps, me. And I'll die soon-she said we would all die soon. I… How can you want something and be terrified of it at the same time? How is it possible? I… I want to die. I wish I was dead right now. It would be better to be dead than to be here. I am alone, in the dark, and my entire body hurts. I have sores on my legs and those sores will only get worse the longer I kneel here. I… I feel filthy. Death would be better than this. And yet I could not take the pain and the chance of death when it came to me. Why? If I had only been stronger… I would perhaps be dead now."_

"I… I k-killed…"

Iceland began to sob quietly.

_"I want to die! I changed my mind! Hurt me, cut me, kill me, please! Take me from this place… D-don't leave me here…with the fear and the pain and the guilt. I don't want it. I need to die. But I'm scared… I'm so scared of dying, because I don't know what's on the other side. I don't know if heaven and hell exist, but if they do, and nations go to those places, then… Then won't I go to hell? Hell is where the bad people go, right? Honorable warriors go to…to Valhalla? Does that still apply, now? It did when I was young… But… I don't know anymore. I don't know if it even exists anymore, or if it ever existed at all. And I…am not…a warrior. I am a scared little suicidal boy who is undeserving of the good life he once had."_

The fact that he had just described himself as suicidal shocked Iceland for a moment, but then, he realized, it was true. He wanted to die, but he would prefer it to be by his own hand, somehow. He wondered if others who wished to die thought this way, wondered if they, too, shied away from death when it was presented to them.

_"Surely not. It's only me… Since I am a coward. I am not only worthless and selfish, I am also a coward. There…there is no honor in my existence. I… I should never have existed at all, then. If I cannot be an honorable personification, then I should not be a personification at all. I ought not exist at all, without honor and bravery and pride. _I ought to die, and descend into the depths of hell_."_

"No, you shouldn't, Eirikur."

Latvia was leaning against the doorframe, and Iceland saw that the boy looked very, very tired. There was utter exhaustion in Latvia's expression, and sorrow in his eyes.

"I…"

"Honor and bravery have nothing to do with it," Latvia said. "At least, I don't think so. I… Heaven is a perfect place, Eirikur. Right? Heaven is supposed to be a perfect and beautiful place without suffering. So… Even though I've had a lot of different beliefs over the years… Now, since the world has ended, and my people no longer affect me… There is something that I, Raivis Galante, believe about the afterlife. Do you know what I think, Eirikur?"

Iceland shook his head.

"I think that heaven is a place where all those who have been tortured in life won't be tortured anymore," Latvia said. The boy smiled, but his violet eyes remained sad.

"In heaven, we'll all be okay," he said. "We'll remember each other, but the bad things won't affect how we see each other. So… Eddy won't be afraid of Mr. Russia or of himself anymore. Toris won't have any scars, and he'll be happy and smile again. You'll get to be with your whole family again, and when you see them, you'll be so happy that any selfishness you may have had will be completely forgotten by everyone. And… And Panem will smile. Panem will smile and she will be really, truly happy. And she will have those eyes like Lithuania had once, the eyes that loved everybody, and we'll all play together and run together and talk together and it will be so amazing… Don't you think it will be amazing, Eirikur?"

"Do you… Believe that, Raivis?" Iceland murmured. "Do you really believe that people like us can go to heaven?"

Latvia nodded, almost without hesitation.

"I know it," he said. "We'll be happy one day, Eirikur. So we don't…we don't need to be too sad in this life. No matter what happens to us, when we die and go to heaven, I'm sure we'll all be able to smile again."

* * *

When he left Iceland's cell, Latvia tried to walk with his head held high, tried to appear as if he were calm and confident and brave.

The moment the door closed, separating him from Iceland, the tiny boy crumpled to the floor and burst into tears.

"I hate this," he sobbed. "I hate it! I want to go home. I'm n-not brave, I'm scared, and I don't know if we get to go to heaven. I just… I know that I don't want Eddy to hurt, I don't want Eirikur to hurt… I don't want anyone to hurt. Not even Panem. I want her to feel happy again, too. But I don't know… I think we've done too many bad things. I think we probably don't get to go to heaven…"

Their faces flashed before him-Estonia, Iceland, Panem, Lithuania-and he knew he could not save them. He could not save any of them, and he did not know if they might be saved in death. He doubted it, somehow, believing that they were all far too broken to go to heaven.

"We are not bad people," he whimpered. "We are _broken_ people. But we are broken people who did bad things, and people who do bad things have to be punished. I… I don't want anyone to be punished! I want everyone to stop hurting! I want Eddy to not have voices in his head, I want him to be sane and I want him to like himself… I want Eirikur not to blame himself for the mistakes he made... I want Toris to be alive and not have scars on his wrists and on his back and I want him to smile with warm eyes and… I want my big brothers and my friends back! S-someone… T-tell me…it's all a dream… I can't… I can't take this. I'm not strong. I can't do this. It's all for nothing, if she's going to kill them."

He sobbed harder, agony in his cries, and before his tortured eyes there was a vision of Panem, kissing him with a passion born of obsession and not of love.

"I… I wish that Panem would be sane and that she would l-love me… Not be obsessed with me… _Love me_. I would be okay with all of it, if she was sane. She could have me if she really loved me, but she's insane and she's obsessed and I don't want to belong to her!"

His voice had risen to a scream, agonized and keening, for he knew that none of the other prisoners could get out, knew that none of them would come to him and try to comfort him. He did not want comfort-it was they who needed to be comforted. They were suffering deeply; they were being tortured. He was merely the object of an insane girl's obsession, and he ought to be stronger. He was not being tortured, and yet Panem's unwanted affection felt like utter torment.

"Raivis…"

The Latvian boy's eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring up at Estonia, who stood in the middle of the corridor. He had never seen his brother look so sad. It was not a desperate sadness, nor a self-hating sadness, nor a sadness of one who was being beaten for a crime he had not committed. It was the sadness of someone who saw another person suffer, and found in himself no way of easing that suffering person's pain.

Latvia hated seeing his brother look at him that way. It was Estonia whom Panem had tortured, Estonia whom Panem planned to kill. Estonia should not be sad for him, the child who had been exempted from torture.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't you dare pity me. I don't want it."

Estonia bent down, lifted Latvia with trembling, awkward hands, and as he did so, Latvia felt a tear fall from Estonia's eyes and land on his face.

"Let go," he whimpered. "Put me down, Eddy."

"No," Estonia said. "I won't. I'm not letting you go. I… I can't protect you from her, Raivis. I can't do that. I'm not strong enough. But… I won't let you go, either. I won't, so don't even try to make me. I… I'm sorry… I can't protect you."

"It's okay," Latvia said. "And… That's the point, Eddy. I don't want to be protected. I don't need you to save me or help me. I just want you to…to stay. I don't want you to leave me, because… If you leave me, then I'll… I don't… I don't know what I'll do without you, Eddy. I don't know what will happen when you die. But it will hurt. I'll… I'll miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too, Raivis," Estonia murmured. The blond Baltic looked down at Latvia, and the little boy reached up and wiped the tears off his brother's face.

"But maybe… Maybe there's heaven to look forward to?" Latvia whispered, gazing up at Estonia. "Maybe it won't be so bad, dying?"

Estonia turned his face away, sobbing, and Latvia reached up again, not understanding.

"I'm sorry… Why are you crying, Eddy? What did I say?"

"D-demons don't go to heaven, Lati," Estonia whispered. "Only angels go to heaven. So when you go… I won't be there with you."

"Yes, you will, silly Eddy," Latvia said. And as he said it, he took all of his brokenness and pain and sorrow and shoved it deep inside himself. It did not matter, not now. Estonia was the only thing that mattered now.

He lied as he had lied to Iceland, speaking of things that he knew might well be impossibilities. These impossibilities might give his friends hope, and if they could do that, then his suffering, his lies, were not in vain.

If only he could make his friends smile again, then it was not in vain. If he could protect them, even for a moment, he would sacrifice everything.

It was much harder to remember that when Panem was there, looking at him with those maddened, broken eyes. And yet it was easier, too, for he was sacrificing himself to her, as well as sacrificing for his friends.

He could also give her happiness, and perhaps that was what she needed.

"You will go to heaven," he said to Estonia. "We will all go to heaven. And that is because heaven is the place where tortured souls are tortured no longer. When we get to heaven, Eddy… None of us will hurt anymore."

"Do you believe that, Raivis?" Estonia asked. "H-how do you manage to believe that?"

Latvia leaned against his brother's shoulder, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to keep a straight face. But in spite of trying not to, he started to cry.

* * *

**So, yeah, this is a chapter.**

**Notes: Latvia, obviously, wants to believe in the idea that they will all get to go to heaven, and that all of them will be happy there. He does not, however, think this is possible. **

**Iceland does want to die. He's stated it numerous times, but for a person who wants to escape from the world, it's pretty common to freak out when actually faced with the prospect of death. (To give a bad example, when you're driving and you almost hit another car and think "No, I can't die!".) That's how it is-you automatically don't want to die when the opportunity is presented. And then when you have no more chances to die, you wish you'd taken that chance. **

**Italy is... Basically delusional? I'm not completely certain how to explain this. Basically, he's blocking out everything he knows is true in order to keep himself sane. If denying things will keep him sane, he's fine with believing anything. **

**Next chapter is going to be an update on the 'outside' nations. (I haven't done a Canada POV in a shameful amount of time.) After that, I'm planning to wrap the first part of this story up within two weeks. I'll plan to resume the story on or around January 1st, regardless of when the hiatus begins. (Christmas-time updates are too stressful.) **

**So that's a thing. Thank you all for reading and reviewing; you don't know how much it means to me! **


	31. Fight On

Chapter Thirty-One: Fight On

Endings do not come to those who wish for them, but only to those who do not want their ending yet.

Lithuania decided this during one long night, lying awake, staring up at the faint outline of the ceiling above him. He decided that life was not fair, that he could not make it fair, and that it was probable that he would be unable to end his life until he stopped wishing to end it.

"So on the day that I am 'healed'… I will die?" he whispered. "Then I will never die. I will stay alive forever and I will never heal, nor will I be released. And everyone else, everyone who wants to live… They'll die. I won't be able to help them. I… I can't even die saving them, can I? Why can't I do even that? I would be not only relieved then, dying, but happy. I would be happy…"

He would be happy anyways, if he were able to die. As long as there was no continuance of existence after death, he could die peacefully. It would be so wonderful, not existing. If nonexistence was truly real, then Lithuania longed for death more than anything else.

He glanced over at Russia, who was curled up next to him on the bed, and sighed.

"If only I had been able to die when you were willing to kill me," he murmured. He sat up, leaning against the pillows, smiled sadly at the sleeping Russian.

"But you… You would feel guilty. And you feel too guilty already. It's not your fault, you know. Not yours. Not Estonia's. Not anyone's."

He broke off, his soft, bitter laughter echoing around the quiet room.

"Well… That's not true, is it? It's _my_ fault. It's my fault for not saving you, for not saving Estonia… If I had just tried a little harder, then… Maybe none of this would have happened."

Something occurred to him suddenly, and he buried his head in his hands, trying not to sob aloud.

"I-if I hadn't broken… Then I would have noticed! I would have noticed that Panem was scared and alone and I would have done something! She is like you, Russia, and I would have seen it had I not been so caught up in my own pain! I should have seen it… I… H-how could I not have noticed? Am I that selfish? I d-didn't notice… I always would have noticed before… Why didn't I…?"

"Breaking is not something that one can control, Litva," Russia murmured.

"I should have been stronger."

"Nyet."

Lithuania looked down at Russia, only to find that the other nation was sitting up, kneeling on the bed, staring at him through large, sad eyes.

"If you had been any stronger, the breaking would have crumbled you into dust," Russia said.

"If I had been stronger, I wouldn't have broken," Lithuania said. "Don't tell me that being stronger would have made the breaking worse. If I had been stronger, I would not…"

Russia placed his finger over Lithuania's lips, and the brunet Baltic went quiet. Even now, he did not dare to disobey Russia.

"I know about breaking, Toris," said Russia. "And the stronger you are, the more the breaking hurts you. Weak people who break take it as a matter of course-they were weak, and so they were broken. But people who are strong, whether in mind or in body… It is not so easy for us, Litva. We want to be as strong as we were before. Because we were once so strong, we believe that we should remain so, until the end of the world. But we cannot do it. We are only human beings, now, and even when our bodies were immortal, we still only possessed the power to live. We did not possess the power to stay sane, to stay unbroken."

"B-but… I… Ivan, I don't want to be broken," Lithuania whispered, shocking himself with the pitiful sound of his own voice. "I want to save people- I want to save _you_!"

"I know," Russia said, and, Lithuania realized, he _did_ know. There was understanding in Russia's violet eyes, understanding and terrible pain.

"I know that you want to save me, Litva, but that is not your job now. It is your job to survive, but you cannot save yourself. We cannot save ourselves from breaking. But you… You _are_ saving me, although not in the way that you most wish to. You would be wishing to take all of the pain away from me, da?"

"Y… Yes."

"You cannot do that for me," Russia said. "And I cannot do that for you. No one can take all of the pain away from another person, not even someone who is as kind as you are, my Litva. You cannot be the savior of the world, or even of one person. It is not for us to take away all of the pain. We are not doctors, who know how to help each other fix all our hurts. We are humans, broken, fragile, and we cannot save each other from the pain. Not fully."

Lithuania looked away from Russia, not wanting to meet the sad eyes that were somehow filled with more wisdom than he had ever known that such a childish person could possess.

"Then what is the point of existence?" he asked. "If we cannot save each other… Why live?"

"We _can_ save each other," Russia said. "Sort of, a little bit. Crying is still better than dying, Toris. We can cry, as long as we do not die. It is good to cry, da? It helps. So crying is not the worst thing. Dying is. And you… You may be broken, Toris. You may be unable to take away all of my pain. You may not be there to take away Estonia and Latvia's pain, if they are alive. But you _can_ save me."

"You just said that I couldn't!" Lithuania protested. "Russia, you're not making any sense…"

"I know, Litva." Russia sounded very tired, very old. "I know. I have never made much of the senses, da? I am not good at it. Sense does not make sense to me. But this… This makes sense to me. Look, listen. Listen to me, Toris, please! Listen…"

Russia was starting to cry, Lithuania realized, and he reached over, laid his hand on the blond man's gloved fingers.

"I'm listening. Go on, Ivan."

"Y-you… You are a good person," Russia managed. "You are a very good person and it does not matter if you do not take all of the pain away because, Litva, you are saving me! Even if I am hurting… You are still saving me. You have saved me for all of this time, do you understand? Understand, Litva. You are my savior. You have always been my savior. You always will be."

"But, I…"

"Toris."

The way Russia said his name was soft, kind, understanding… And yet, it was full of pain and longing, and Lithuania wondered...

"I have tried to commit suicide, too."

"I know that!" Lithuania snapped. "You already told me. I d-didn't do anything to help…"

"It was after the Soviet Union was dissolved," Russia continued, ignoring Lithuania. "You were gone, and I… There were hallucinations, and… I… I tried to kill myself. Like you, I believe that I need to be punished for what I have done. Unlike you, I really have done horrible things. You failed to save others from pain, Toris, but you did not condemn them to that pain as I did to you and the others. You are guilty of no crime. Not like me."

Russia's soft, self-hating smile hurt Lithuania. He had known, deep inside, that Russia would blame himself, but he had not known that it would be like this, that Russia would carry such guilt with him years after the fact.

"Since the fall of this world, I have again wanted to die," Russia said. "It… It is seeming hopeless, da? It seems as if we cannot escape. So I think 'I should die'. But then I look at you, my little Litva, and I see you and think 'I am staying for him'. As long as you live, I will be okay. I will not be alone. I will have someone who… Who I have hurt… But who loves me anyway. And I am going to be trying to fix you. I _will_ fix you. As long as you are alive, I will not kill myself. Let us not kill ourselves, okay, Toris? It is not good to do such things."

"When did you become the sensible one?" Lithuania asked.

Russia laughed.

"I am not so very sensible. But I know my own pain, Toris. And I know that when you are gone, my pain will be unbearable. So, selfishly… I am begging you again to stay for me."

* * *

Canada hated the days when France was angry. They were the longest days in the world, the most frightening days of his life. They were the only times that France ever lifted a hand against him.

The blond boy sat alone at the table in their tiny kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He waited for France to wake and prayed that this would be one of his Papa's good days, that France would not rage…

He knew when he felt hands clamp down on his shoulders that fate was not planning to favor him today.

"Mathieu," France's voice was low, almost menacing, and Canada stiffened, clenching his fists under the table and trying not to shake.

_"I cannot give him what he wants. I would not give it him even if I had alcohol to give. He does not need it, and I cannot give it to him."_

He smiled softly, with a confidence that he did not feel.

"Good morning, Francis. How are you today?"

France pulled him out of his chair, and he went willingly, not daring to fight with the larger man. He sometimes wondered if France was going insane, and he wondered this now, falling to the floor, staring up at France.

"What makes you think you can tell me or Nichols what to do, Mathieu?" France asked.

_"This is not good. This is very not good. He's… He really is losing it, isn't he? W-what does he think is happening…? What is he seeing?"_

"Y-you don't need the alcohol, Francis," he said. "I'm not giving it to you. You don't need it, and you never will need it, so please stop asking…"

"I," France said, "Am the adult here. You do not make the rules."

Canada took a deep breath, glancing around the room, wondering how it was that one could be this afraid of his own father. He had never felt this kind of fear before, not with France. But France had grown more violent, and, at the same time, more broken. Canada wondered if the guilt of believing that he had sent America and England to their deaths had broken France's mind.

"I _am_ an adult, Francis," he whispered. "I am an adult, and you need to listen to me now. You're not… You're not in your right mind, now."

France kicked him, hard and with a violence that Canada had never seen him exhibit before, and at that moment, he knew that he was no longer safe in the house, not with France like this.

"Papa!"

The cry escaped from his lips before he thought about it, and France's expression cleared somewhat, cold clarity beginning to come back into the man's deep blue eyes. And still Canada was afraid of him.

He backed away, and France stared at him, blue eyes widening.

"Mathieu…"

"D-don't touch me," Canada whispered, and France stopped, looking puzzled.

"Where did you go?"

Canada let himself breathe again, and, for once, he was grateful for his unintentional powers of invisibility. But even invisible, it still hurt to look at France, to watch the man looking for him, utterly perplexed and unable to fathom what he had done. It was the knowledge of how far France had broken that hurt, and not the actual pain of the strike.

But still, Canada could not stay in the house on this day. He could not stay there with France for one moment longer, could not stay and know that his Papa was broken, and that he could do nothing to help.

He fled the house and ran into the woods, invisible. No one was there to watch him go, and even France would likely not have cared had he seen the boy running away. Canada was barely human anymore, barely visible even to France.

He wondered if it was France's sadness that caused the man not to see him. Sometimes France remembered him, but mostly France did nothing, lay on the sofa or on his bed, staring into nothingness.

Canada hated that, but he hated worse these times, the times when France would rage, would shout at him and demand alcohol. He could do nothing against France at these times, could only stand silent and take the abuse.

France had only ever hit him once before, and it was that time that the older man had broken down crying, apologizing for all of the things that were not his fault. And Canada had stayed, that time, had told him that everything was fine, that all would be well, that they would be safe again one day.

Now, he ran through the woods, a sobbing, invisible boy, and knew that he had lied. They would never be safe again. They-France at least-could not recover from this. They could not forget what had happened.

France would not get better. Panem would find them, and they would die.

This was the knowledge that followed him on dark nights, the oppressive thought that all of this was for nothing. There was no point in any of it. He might as well kill himself now, save himself the pain of living on, only to die in the end.

He wondered, if he was truly invisible, would not the knife go right through his body without harming him? Would not the noose slip from his neck?

It did not matter, and he stood now in a forest clearing, panting, tears running down his face.

"I c-can't die," he said, his voice quivering. "I can't. It's not possible. I have to be here for him. Even if I wanted to die_, really_ wanted to die… I couldn't leave. I'm needed here. Even if I can't fix him… Oh, but there _is_ a chance. There's a small chance that I can help him. It's v-very small, but… But if he could smile again, if he could stop blaming himself… I… Have to stay for that chance. I _will_ stay for that chance. I'll take care of him… I'll listen to him. I'll fix him. I h-have to fix him… If I don't, then I'll surely become completely invisible. He's the one person I can help. I think if I don't help him… I'll disappear."

He was terrified of disappearing; he was terrified of what would happen if France forgot him. He knew that if France died, he might fade away and die as well. France was the only person who had ever bothered to remember him. Without that memory, he might well simply fade away without warning, never to be seen again.

Canada sank to his knees, feeling dry grass crunch around him. Summer would end soon, and autumn would come. After that would come winter, and by spring, Panem would likely have found them in their woodland hiding place. All nations were dead men walking, Canada thought; all nations were humans with death written on their faces. They all knew that their deaths were imminent; they all knew that they might only have hours to live.

And yet they struggled on… And for what reason? They struggled on because they had already struggled for too long. Although they were broken, they still struggled, because they did not know how to stop struggling.

And Canada, too, would struggle on, until the day when Panem found them. He would struggle on, he would take care of France, and perhaps it would turn out all right. He was not sure that things could turn out all right, with England and America gone, with France broken.

But he would struggle on nonetheless.

* * *

Estonia waited for Latvia to wake, and felt selfish in his wish for companionship. Latvia looked peaceful in repose, his worried frown smoothing into a soft, innocent, childish smile. When he woke again, he would worry. Sleep was the only escape for a worried, kind child like Latvia.

Estonia realized then, not for the first time, just how like a younger Lithuania his tiny brother was now. Latvia, worried while awake, only seemed peaceful in sleep. Lithuania, though, had been worried even then, and Estonia was grateful that sleep provided a reprieve for Latvia, although it had not been so for Lithuania.

He wondered where his older brother was now, if perhaps Lithuania might be watching over them. He glanced around the room, almost expecting to see an angel flit out of sight, but he saw nothing, only a tiny, sleeping Latvian.

"I thought you were smarter than this, Raivis," he murmured, stroking his little brother's hair. "I thought you knew you couldn't save people. But… You… You _do_ know, don't you? And you're still trying. Why?"

"Have to," Latvia mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. "If I don't I'll hate myself for not trying."

"Sometimes trying and failing is worse than not trying at all," Estonia said. "I should know. I don't want you to become like Toris. Nor like me. God forbid that you become like me."

"If I became like you, maybe Panem would kill me," Raivis mused. "Not that that would do anyone any good. Or… Maybe my insanity is what she wants. I've never really understood whether she just wants _me_, or whether she wants _me, insane_. I'm not sure if she just wants company, or if what she really wants is company _in_ her insanity."

The boy glanced up at Estonia, sighing.

"I don't really understand her," he said. "Or you, either, Eddy. I don't really know what causes you guys to think the way you do. I just know that you got hurt, and that when you got hurt you got really scared."

"I was scared before, Raivis," Estonia said. He winced, involuntarily recalling the blinding terror of daring to stand up to Russia.

"It was just terror, then, though," he said. "Now it's fear and some kind of mad exhilaration. For Panem, I think, like for me, there's an exhilaration that comes with seeing your enemies suffer. You want to make them pay. And…you'd do anything to keep the people you love from leaving you. If you remember, I clung to you, too, just as Panem is doing now. The difference then was that I was starting to question the insanity… I was g-getting better. You helped me get better. I wasn't as far gone then as I am now. I'm still not as far gone as Panem is. I'm not sure that even an angel like you can save her."

Latvia blinked at him.

"Eddy, do you really think I'm an angel? Do you really think that?"

"Yeah," Estonia muttered. "Yeah, I do. You and Toris are angels, and I… Am not."

Understanding flashed across Latvia's face, and he sat bolt upright, violet eyes wide and staring right at Estonia.

"You said you were a demon," he said, childishly accusing. "Eddy, that is not true. I am not an angel, you are not a demon, and you are not going to hell."

Estonia blinked.

"When did this become about hell?"

"When you called yourself a demon," Latvia said. "Eduard, angels and demons are supposed to be _at war_. Angels and demons cannot be siblings. Furthermore, they probably do not even exist. And if they do, well, we certainly aren't those kinds of things. We're nations. We are neither good nor evil. Really, Eddy, we're such victims of circumstances that I don't think any of us could be truly 'good' or 'evil' if we tried. And… I just don't believe that anyone is evil all the way through. Not Panem, not Russia, not you. No one is really evil. Instead, we're twisted and corrupted by circumstances. We can't change the circumstances, nor, really, can we change ourselves. Eddy, I've seen people saved from their own insanity over and over, and it's always someone else who saves them. Katya and I saved you, right? Toris saved Ivan, even if he didn't believe he did. So maybe I can save you _and_ Panem. And Eirikur. I don't want him to end up like you. I'm going to protect him. And you… You're protecting people too, Eddy. You don't think you are, but you are. You're my hero. You always have been. So even if you don't believe it, you're a very brave person. You're still pressing on despite your pain, and…"

"That's quite enough about me, Raivis," Estonia whispered. "That's quite enough about you being a self-sacrificing idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," Latvia said. "And I won't let it get me down, Eddy. I won't let this break me. I know people can't always be fixed, but I'm going to try to fix all of you, regardless of that. But even if I fail… I refuse to break. I just won't let it happen!"

_"You already have, Raivis."_

The image of his tiny brother sobbing in the hallway, screaming in agony, was something that Estonia could never forget.

_"You've already let this break you. You just don't realize yet that this is what broken is."_

* * *

**Notes: Basically, what Russia was trying to say is that although he and Lithuania cannot save each other in the sense of 'taking away all the pain that is inside of each other', they can save each other merely in keeping each other alive for another day. He believes that this is enough, because, for him, the worst imaginable torture is being left alone. If he does not keep Lithuania alive, that is how it will end, with him alone. Russia knows that he cannot handle that.**

**France and Canada haven't exactly been a focus point of this story *cough*because I keep forgetting about them*cough*, but, basically, France has been gradually falling apart, due to his inability to handle the knowledge that America and England are either dead or in prison, and that Panem will eventually come and kill Canada as well. He no longer cares about himself, but the thought of Canada dying too is utterly unbearable. Alcohol is the only way he knows to forget the pain, and Canada refuses to allow him that outlet. France would never purposefully harm Canada, but he is also growing much less stable, and is no longer able to discern what he is doing at times.**

**Canada's invisibility, I think, is something that happens randomly. He doesn't know when he's going to be invisible, or if certain people will be able to see him, while others will not.**

**Next week or the week after that will wrap up part one of this fic, so I'll be leaving a long AN then. Also, I'll be posting the updated timeline in a separate chapter (because it's 4000 words long and no one needs to try to read a 5000 word chapter and a 4000 word timeline at once). So, yeah.**

**Thank you all for your support and for your reviews-presently, there are 167 reviews on this story, the most I've ever gotten on anything. Thank you all so much. :) **


	32. No Return

**Hi, everyone! I'm sorry for not updating last weekend, but things have been super busy around here, and I wanted this chapter to be good! As you know, this is the last chapter of part one, and I have a ton of stuff to say at the end, but until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two: No Return

Three days since Panem had killed Japan, and it felt like an eternity. There had been a deep silence in the prison all that time. Estonia and Latvia appeared once a day, bringing food and water, and then left again, silent, frightened, broken. They were waiting for something, and the prisoners were waiting for the same thing. America did not know what it was they waited for, but he could feel the dreadful anticipation.

Something terrible was going to happen, of this America was sure. Such a silence from Panem could only mean that she was planning something, and her plan would doubtless be one that would hurt them all.

Then she came to him, early one morning, a smile on her face and madness in her eyes. The madness increased when she looked at England, and America _knew_-and so did England, he could see it in the other man's eyes-that Panem was going to either torture England to the point of death, or outright kill him.

"Is it going to end?" he asked, and she turned to him, laughing.

"No, Alfie. This is only the beginning of your ending. I'm going to crush what's left of you, yes. But I will leave those shattered remains alive, to watch what happens until the very end. You will watch as each of your friends die, but you will do so through broken eyes."

"Alfred," England said, "don't let her break you."

Panem giggled, and America fought back a desperate whimper, a plea, a cry for help that he knew no one would answer. He did not deserve to have his cries answered.

"Oh, England, can't you see it?" she asked. "Don't you see the way he's standing? Bent over, shaking like he might snap in half. I've already broken him. Now I will crush him, and you will be the means of his shattering."

"I will be no such thing!" England snapped, and America turned to the older man, a sob breaking from his throat.

"She's gonna kill you, Iggy," he whispered.

England stared back at him, imperturbable even now.

"Then do not let it break you, Alfred," he said. "If she is going to kill me, it is up to you not to break. It is up to you to make my death worth something. Do you understand? If this is how it must be, then let it be. But do not break. Prove her wrong, Alfie. Prove yourself strong."

"I've never-"

"Alfie."

England's eyes were kind, his smile soft, but in his eyes, behind the kindness, there was a hard resignation, a determination to suffer and die with bravery. It was something that America had seen often in England's eyes during their imprisonment, but it was something that he had never been able to harness for himself. He did not, and probably never would, share England's strength.

"Panem is watching you," England said. "And soon they all will be. Perhaps you are not a strong person, but, Alfred, none of us are. Not really. We are all terrified. But if we let our terror show, then Panem has won. She wants to terrify you, Alfie. Look at her. She's laughing now. Don't let her laugh any longer. You may cry for me, but you may not allow your pain and self-hatred to crush you! Alfred, if you allow that, then she has truly won. There is no longer any war if there is no one left unbroken, no one left to fight."

England stepped forward, grasping America's hand. His green eyes were full of vigor, full of life, a life that America was not ready to see snuffed out. He was not ready to lose England. He knew that he could not. Losing England would be the death of him, the death of his sanity.

_"I've already killed my friends. I can't… I can't kill my big brother!"_

"Artie…" he whimpered, his voice pathetic and childish, and England sighed, vibrant eyes clouding over.

"Don't cry, Alfie," he said. "I'm not dead yet."

Panem's giggles suddenly became audible, and America whirled round to see her standing in the doorway of the cell, doubled over, laughing.

"Oh, England!" she chortled. "You try so hard to be noble, but Alfred just ruins it, doesn't he? He's always been good at ruining things, hasn't he? Was it like this when he left you crying in the rain? That ruined a lot of things too, didn't it? What else has your baby brother ruined? Aren't you ashamed of him yet? Go on, admit it! You're about to die! Say anything you like!"

"I have only one thing to say," England said. "And that, Panem, is directed at you, but never at Alfred. Go to hell. Burn there for what you have done to this child; to all those nations who were once children just like you. Burn, girl, for I am Arthur Kirkland, and although I no longer have my magic, I call down fire upon you!"

Nothing happened, yet England still stood resolute, his eyes sparking with emerald fury. Panem laughed, her own eyes glowing with fevered excitement.

"Arthur Kirkland, former dark magician and personification of England," she said. "It makes no difference what you call down upon me. You cannot save anyone with your words. You are going to die."

* * *

Estonia wished it was him. Carrying fragile China, Latvia clinging to his hand, he still wished it was him. He knew before they entered the room that someone was going to die. He knew when Panem came to him, took him and Latvia into the dark prison to carry China upstairs, that this was the grand finale-or, knowing Panem, perhaps the grand beginning-of something truly horrible.

They were in a conference room, an ordinary conference room with chairs and a long table. America sat in the chair farthest from the doorway, head in his hands, his entire body shaking as he cried. England stood alone by the window, staring out, and as Estonia approached, he saw that the British man's hands were cuffed, while America's were not.

"England," Latvia whispered, and the blond man turned to face them. There was acceptance in his eyes, acceptance that reminded Estonia of Lithuania, and he looked away from England, not trusting himself to speak.

"You won't blame yourself, will you, Raivis? Please don't. I've already got Alfred in tears."

_"He has every right to cry," _Estonia thought. _"He's done what I did. He's led his own brother to death through his own stupidity. Arthur… Toris. Alfred… Me."_

"China, I'm going to set you down, all right?" he said. The Chinese man looked up at him, honeyed eyes betraying his exhaustion. China could barely stand on his own, now.

"I wish she would kill me," he rasped. "Arthur is still strong. He could survive."

"It is precisely for that reason that she wants to kill me," England said. "She has to break us, Yao. Those of whom she cannot break will have to die. She chooses to kill you slowly because she knows it humiliates you. But losing fingers cannot break me, starvation would not break me, and so she chooses to make an example of me. She also chooses this because she knows that Alfred is on the brink of either breaking or going insane. This is the final straw for my younger brother. Panem believes she will crush him with this. It… It is likely that she will, but…"

England's voice was choked with tears, and Estonia set China down in one of the chairs, turning back to England, who had turned away again, head bowed.

"It's not your fault," Estonia said. "And I'll take care of America."

"You're afraid of him, as you have every right to be," England said, refusing to meet Estonia's eyes. "I will not force you to take on that burden."

"No… I… You're not forcing me," Estonia murmured. "Look… I…"

_"Lithuania! Come back! Come back! Don't be dead, don't hurt yourself, don't _go_! It's all my fault… I… If it hadn't been for me, we could have saved him before it was too late, before Russia destroyed him. It's my fault that Toris is…"_

"I know what it's like to lose an older brother," he said. "It's the kind of pain that no one should have to bear alone. So I will not allow Alfred to be alone. I… I am not afraid of him. The voices in my head say I should be, and they say that I should hate him. I refuse to do either of those things any longer. He is going to lose you the way I lost Toris, and he is going to blame himself, and…"

England turned his face away, but when he spoke, Estonia heard the tears in his voice.

"Thank you, Eduard. Thank you. I… I am indebted to you."

The British man looked up at Estonia, undisguised tears glistening on his cheeks.

"You're a very brave boy," he said. "I know you think you're not, but you are. Any other man would not propose such a thing when he was already so…so broken."

"It's because I'm broken," Estonia said. "I know what will happen to him, and I don't want him to be alone. Because… When you're alone… All of the pain… It just…"

"I know," England said. "I'm sorry. I… I feel as if I'm placing a burden on you. And I know this is going to break Alfred. I… I don't…"

"It's not your doing," Estonia said. "It's Panem's."

England smiled, and that smile was full of pain and regret.

"And if it is Panem's fault, then it is all of ours for driving her to commit such horrible deeds," he said. "Now… Go sit down, Estonia. I want to be alone now, until the end."

Estonia nodded, and then turned away silently. He cast one look back at England, saw the older man standing at the window with his head held high, and wished that he possessed that kind of courage, that kind of strength.

_"I won't be able to die that way. Serene, head held high, accepting. No. I'll be fighting, screaming, because, in the end, no matter how much it hurts to live, I don't want to die! I want to live on, I want to be with Raivis until the end. And I can't. I can't protect anyone, can't help anyone. I'm going to be tortured to death, probably soon. I… I must be next. Panem said she would kill me soon… And I won't be able to go like England or Japan. I'll be screaming before the torture's begun. Because that is the kind of weak person that I am. I've never been strong. But, oh, I envy England's courage. That was the kind of bravery I imagined myself to have when I stood up for Raivis, long, long ago. If only I had known how quickly that foolish bravery would shatter, how quickly I would break… If only I had known… Things would have been much different. I would never have done what I did. I would have known better."_

* * *

Latvia did not even notice the new prisoner for the first ten minutes that they were in a room together. He was preoccupied with watching England and Estonia. He could tell that England was crying, that Estonia would probably cry later, and would blame himself again.

He watched China, too, saw the older nation's dulling eyes blinking slowly, staring down at the table. China seemed utterly exhausted.

"You can sleep here," Estonia murmured to China, sliding into the seat between China and Latvia. "She can't possibly have anything in here to wake you, not something that would torture us all. And it won't be an hour until she begins."

"Precisely, aru," China said. "I'm not going to sleep. I want… No, I don't. I don't want to see what happens, but I have to. I need to know what she's doing to him. She's likely to do the same to me."

Estonia nodded, and Latvia, suddenly remembering something, reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll. He had been saving a part of his dinner every day for just such a chance.

"Eduard," he whispered, and the older boy caught the urgency in his voice, turning to him with a questioning expression.

"Give this to China," Latvia murmured, and Estonia looked down at him, wide-eyed. Latvia could see the older boy weighing the risk, knowing that if they were caught, Panem would punish them.

"There's no point in giving that to me," China said, his voice soft. "It will only make everything last longer. Eat it yourself. You're little, and you need to eat."

Crestfallen, Latvia nodded, slipping the roll back into his pocket. He glanced toward the other side of the room, and was startled to see someone new sitting there.

"Mr. Austria!" he squeaked, surprised, and Estonia rolled his eyes skyward, something that Latvia had not seen him do in a very long time.

"He's been there since we came in, Raivis," the Estonian said. "He doesn't look particularly happy. It's probably best to leave him alone."

Austria's dark, violet eyes were suddenly fixated on Estonia.

"As if I could be happy in these circumstances," he whispered, and his voice was so _hoarse_, and Latvia knew that Panem had already hurt him.

The tiny boy got up from his chair and trotted around the table to Austria, sitting down in the empty chair next to him. He saw Estonia staring at him quizzically, and made a mental note to explain later that he had heard the memory of torture in Austria's voice, that he wanted to help the older man.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Two days," Austria murmured.

_"The day after Panem killed Japan, then. That's why we never saw him until now."_

"Have you been eating?" he blurted. Austria nodded.

"Panem's been bringing my food. She didn't want you to know I was here. I think… I was a surprise?"

"She's not going to kill you, though," Latvia informed him hurriedly. "She usually tells people when she's going to kill them, and I think she's…"

"She's going to kill England," Austria said. The violet-eyed man glanced around the room.

"Who else is here, besides the ones in this room?"

Latvia followed Austria's gaze, seeing that someone had brought Belarus in, that she was sitting next to America, watching him cry. As Latvia watched, the girl took America by the shoulders and shook him, her dark eyes full of desperation.

"Stop it!" Belarus snapped, her voice breaking. "You have to stop it! Y-you can't just break down! Hey, are you listening?"

America sobbed harder, and Latvia looked away, knowing that America, at least, was one person whom he could not possibly help.

"They're all here," he murmured to Austria. "Except for Iceland and-"

He did not have time to finish his statement before the door swung open, and Italy was there, his brown eyes wide, taking in the entire scene in an almost uncomprehending manner.

"Hey, Mr. Austria!" Italy chirped, sliding into the seat on Austria's other side. "I didn't know you were here! Hey, you don't look so good… Are you okay?"

Austria glanced at Latvia, who smiled softly, shaking his head.

_"Italy…has no idea. He's like I used to be, before… Before Eddy went insane."_

The door swung open once more, and Panem entered, Iceland limping behind her. The silver-haired boy looked to be in extreme pain, and Latvia ran over to him, taking Iceland's arm and helping him to a chair.

"I can walk by myself, Raivis," Iceland muttered, but there was gratitude in his eyes, and Latvia knew that the silver-haired boy needed this, someone to hold his hand.

He brought Iceland around the table, to where Estonia and China were, and slid into the seat next to Estonia, letting Iceland sit on his other side. The Nordic boy looked exhausted, and there was terror in his violet eyes.

"She's going to kill England," Latvia whispered, and some of the terror drained from Iceland's expression, replaced by remorse and pity.

"Tell her to kill me," he rasped. "Please. Next time…"

"I don't control who she kills!" Latvia said sharply. "I'm just her toy! I don't influence her… I can't! I've tried, and it only makes things worse!"

Iceland looked surprised, and then, after a moment, sorrowful.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean…"

"I know," Latvia whispered. "I know. I'm sorry. I just… I really hate this."

"We all do," Estonia said, slipping his hand into Latvia's. Latvia could feel his brother shaking.

"It's not your fault," Iceland added. "I know you can't do anything, I just… I… I want to…"

"I know," Latvia repeated. "I know you want to die, but I can't just ask Panem to let you. Believe me, Iceland, even if I could give you up… There's no way… She would only make your suffering worse. Never better. Always worse."

Estonia nodded, and his eyes had never seemed so dull and tired.

"She never stops torturing you. And if you beg, you're only consigning yourself to a deeper and more terrible torment. It… It really hurts sometimes."

"It doesn't hurt all the time?" said Panem from the doorway. "Then I'm afraid I'm not doing my job correctly. We'll have to up your torture intake, Eduard. Make it hurt all the time."

Estonia's eyes widened, and Latvia winced. His brother now had his hand in a death grip, and seemed completely intent on holding on to him forever.

"Don't beg," Latvia whispered. "I'll talk her out of it, do a few favors, it'll be okay… I can distract her from you. That's one thing I can do. Favors for Panem, safety for you."

"No favors for her, Raivis," Estonia said. "Don't do any favors for her. Even if you think it will save me, don't do it."

"Chivalrous, aren't we?" Panem asked. "It doesn't matter, though. He's mine, and there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing. Raivis belongs to me, Eduard, not to you or anyone else."

She said it loudly, and Latvia could feel the others' stares. He lowered his head, cheeks burning, unable to face the older nations. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw China watching him, honeyed eyes filling with tears.

"But Raivis," Panem murmured, "is not the issue today. I think you all know why we're here."

No one said anything, and, lifting his head, Latvia saw several nations-England, China, Estonia-cast hateful glances at Panem.

"You're a demon," Estonia murmured under his breath, and Panem's head turned in the Baltic boy's direction.

The girl moved around the table, slowly at first, then fast and deadly. She had a gun to Estonia's head before anyone could react, and Latvia clenched his fists, trying to resist the urge to leap up, pry the gun from Panem's grasp, _save Estonia_…

"What did you call me, Eduard?" Panem asked. "We'll start there, all right? What did you call me?"

There was a long silence, no one moving, Estonia refusing to answer.

"I'll shoot," Panem said.

"G-go ahead." Estonia was laughing, a sort of crazed giggling that Latvia had not heard in a very long time.

"Go ahead and shoot me." Estonia was still giggling, but there were tears running down his cheeks, tears that might have been of either joy or sorrow, adding to the horror Latvia felt at seeing his brother helpless, with a gun to his head.

"Shoot me!" Estonia insisted. "Go ahead, pull the trigger, I don't care! I'm done with this! I can't kill you, so go ahead and kill me! Go on!"

The last time Estonia had laughed like that in front of him, how long ago had it been? Latvia thought it had been back in the Soviet days. Yes, it had been, for Estonia did not laugh like this often. Estonia was more prone to become angry than he was to be giddy and hysterical, not caring what happened to him, hating himself…

_"I left them! I left Katya behind! And I left Toris too! In the end, won't I leave everyone? Isn't that the way it is? I'll always betray everyone, so why should I try to help anymore? I left them! My dear friend, and then my brother, I left them! How long will it be before I leave Raivis and Belarus too?"_

_"Even you, Raivis, will forget me!"_

_"You're not the useless personification, Lati. I am."_

"Don't shoot him!" Latvia shrieked, and both Estonia and Panem turned to stare at him.

"Don't shoot," he repeated, whispering. "Please don't shoot. Y-you won't shoot. You want him to suffer more than that, don't you? Please, please, I'll tell you what Eddy called you, I'll tell you why we're here, I'll do anything you want, just please don't kill him…"

_"I can't lose Eddy, not now, please don't shoot…"_

"Silly, noble Raivis," Panem grumbled. "Always ruining my fun. Fine. You're right, I wouldn't shoot him. I want him to die far more painfully than that, and he knows it, too. Don't you, Eduard?"

"Please shoot me," Estonia whispered, but neither Panem nor Latvia were listening any longer. A moment later, Panem shoved the gun back into its holster.

"Okay, Raivis," she murmured. "Why are we here? And what did your precious Eddy call me?"

"E… Eddy called you a demon," Lavia whispered. "He thinks he's one too, so I'm not really sure that's an insult."

"Everything that boy says is an insult," Panem said. "He hates himself, too. And he should. Worthless Eduard."

Estonia buried his head in his hands, shaking, and Latvia had to look away from him, away from the pain, facing broken emerald eyes that still wanted him, even now.

"You think you can break America," he whispered. "You are going to kill Mr. England because you think it can make America fall apart."

"I've already made him fall apart," Panem said, glancing at the still hysterical American. "Watch what happens when his precious big brother dies. Yes, you're right. I am going to kill England. But do you know something? I won't have to lift a finger. You'll do it all yourselves!"

"No, we will not!" China snapped, his hoarse voice cracking as he tried to command Panem's attention.

"Yes, you will," Panem murmured. "You can refuse to play a part in England's death, but if you do, I'll kill one of the people closest to you in the most painful way possible. China, you wouldn't want me to torture Estonia any more, would you?"

China's frail body was trembling with helpless rage, but he shook his head, honeyed eyes clouding over with pain and grief.

"Only England has to die," Panem said. "But your refusal to cooperate will raise the death count. Do you understand? You may refuse to hurt England, and you will not have to personally end a life. But you will watch someone else die, and that person's death will be your fault, and yours alone. So… Will anyone refuse to play this game?"

"How can we refuse?" Latvia whispered. "No one is that heartless."

_"But we are all that broken, and we will all hesitate. Is hesitation enough to warrant the death of another? Or is it simply refusal? And if America breaks down, if he can't do it… Who will Panem kill for each of those who cannot hurt England? Who?"_

* * *

America heard it all, although he was sure the others had no idea that he was aware enough to know what was happening. But he had to be aware, he had to see, had to know what would happen to England.

He had known, somehow, that Panem would make this worse than a simple killing. No, she would not beat England as she had Japan. She would have to make it far more brutal, and what better way to do it than by forcing everyone else to play a part in the murder of a nation?

"I'm so sorry…" he whispered, and next to him, Belarus's blue eyes regained some of their sanity.

"You're alive in there," she murmured, and he turned away from her, his body shaking with barely suppressed sobs.

_"No… I'm not alive. I don't deserve to be alive. I deserve to die for what I've done, for everyone I've killed. Someone kill me! Me, not the others! Kill me, please, just don't hurt them! Don't hurt England…"_

Panem was forcing a knife into China's hand, and America heard Belarus moan softly. Unwillingly, he turned back to her, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his grasp.

"It l-looks like mine," she whispered. "I s-s-stabbed T-Toris once."

"I know," America said. "He told me. It wasn't your fault, though. You were aiming for Russia, right?"

She nodded, and then buried her face in his shirt. He held her, tears running down his own face, watching Panem, unable to look away.

"What do you want me to do?" China murmured.

"Stab him," Panem said, nodding at England. "It's not that hard. He won't run, will he?"

"How long will we have to continue this?" Estonia asked. He was not crying anymore, although America saw him shaking and knew that the Estonian boy might be seconds from another breakdown.

"Until England dies," Panem said. "All of you will have to stab him at least once."

_"Eight times. There are eight of us… We'll all have to stab him once… Eight times. She's starting with China, she'll move to Estonia… Oh God. I'm going to have to _kill_ England. Really, literally… No, I can't, I _can't_! I need to wake up! I hate this dream! Get me out of it!"_

England turned away from the window, smiling grimly, his green eyes like stone.

"Don't falter," he said. "I am going to die either way. Panem's given us an ultimatum; now follow it through!"

There was another long pause, reluctant this time, as China clutched the knife in his thin, trembling fingers.

"I'm going to have to help China," Estonia murmured finally, his wide blue eyes looking everywhere but at Panem. "He can't walk alone anymore."

"Go, then," Panem said. "You're next, anyways. Take the knife once China's done. Help him do his job, if you want. You're the heartless killer, aren't you, Eduard? Haven't you murdered people before?"

Estonia glanced at Latvia.

"Yes," he said. "I have murdered people. And I regret it."

The blond boy turned to China, lifting the Asian man from his seat and carrying him to England, who was smiling. That hurt the most, really, seeing England smile even now. Even when he was going to die. England had always been stronger than the rest of them, here in this prison, and now he was going to die. None of them wanted to watch, but they also could not look away.

"China, I'll set you down now," Estonia murmured. "You'll have to stand for a minute, but I'll help you with the knife."

"You don't have to do that, aru," China protested. Estonia shook his head, his eyes matching England's in their stony quality.

"I've killed before. It d-doesn't affect me."

They all knew it did, all knew that Estonia was haunted by the past and that he would be haunted by what he was about to do, but China did not protest. They all knew, now, that they could not stop what was going to take place, that they could do nothing to save England. They could only stab straight, and end the pain more quickly.

_"Eight times. Eight thrusts of the knife and it will all be over."_

Estonia set China down, supporting the shaking, fragile Asian man with one hand, taking his arm with the other.

"Close your eyes," Estonia murmured, and although China did not, the blond boy remained stone-faced, thrusting the knife into England's stomach.

America started to sob aloud again as Estonia pulled the knife from China's hand, releasing the older man's arm. He did not realize that Estonia was crying until the blond boy delivered his own strike and turned back to Panem, blood staining his clothes and hands.

"Will that do?"

Panem grinned, nodding.

"I have to say, Eduard… You are good at that."

"I'm good for _nothing_," Estonia said. "You've said so yourself."

The blond boy picked China up again, and once both Estonia and China were back in their seats, it was Latvia's turn. England was biting his lip, blood trickling from his mouth, gushing much more heavily from his stomach.

"Best spread it out, Raivis," England wheezed. "Shoulder, perhaps. We wouldn't want Panem to get bored, would we now?"

"No," Latvia whispered, tears running down his face. "She does bad things when she's bored."

America shut his eyes and did not open them again for a long time. He could feel Belarus still leaning against him, her sobs loud enough for both of them. He did not want to open his eyes, did not want to see England bleeding and trying to stand tall when he was losing so much blood. He did not want to face the fact that he was going to have to kill his own brother.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Austria turning away from England, being replaced by a shaking Italy, whose eyes were wide as saucers. England was bent over, blood pooling on the ground around his feet, and Italy was staring…

"Roderich," England wheezed. "You're going to have to help Italy. He's not going to be able to do it by himself. Check with Panem first, but then help him. Otherwise we'll never be finished here."

America had never seen England in this much pain, never heard a child cry so loudly as Italy did when Austria took his arm and helped him stab England. Austria himself refused to look at the blood, refused to acknowledge the suffering, and America could only hope that Italy would forget this later, that they could all forget…

Then it was Belarus's turn, and America realized that he would have to go up with her, would have to ensure that she drove the blade in where she had to. He knew, he remembered, that Belarus had stabbed Lithuania once, and he also knew that this would remind her of it. But it had to be done, or someone else would die.

He wondered who Panem would kill if Belarus broke down. He did not imagine that there were many choices-Estonia seemed the most likely choice, for he was both Lithuania's brother and an expendable prisoner. He, America, along with Latvia, were not disposable. Estonia was.

He took Belarus's arm, and she stared at him, wide-eyed and panicked.

"Like Lithuania," she whispered. "Much worse. More blood. England does not scream or cry, reminds me of Toris…"

"I know, Nat," America murmured. "I know it's like Toris, b-but… We have to…"

He started to sob again, taking Belarus's hand and pulling her up. She did not cry, not yet, but her eyes grew wider, her face pale.

As they approached England, America saw that the older man was shaking, barely able to stay upright. England's torso was covered in blood, his wounds indistinguishable from the gore that stained his clothes.

"W-well…" England wheezed. "It's only you two left, isn't it?"

America said nothing. Belarus started to sob, and America knew that she was not seeing England, but someone else, someone from a long time ago.

"Alfred." Panem's sharp voice cut through the haze that was beginning to cloud America's vision. "You are not allowed to help. Belarus has to do it herself. She's not a child, nor is she dying. She will do it herself."

America bit his lip, and Belarus's sobs increased.

"C-can't…" she whimpered. "Can't hurt him. Not seeing right. Lithuania…"

"I know," America said. "But you have to stab him. You have to, Nat. We have to. Look… Lithuania's already dead, got it? I know you see him, that you think he's standing right there, but it's a lie. He's not real. He's a phantom. You're not killing him; you're freeing him. He's a ghost and he wants to go to heaven."

England nodded, a sad, pained smile on his lips, and America knew that, at the very least, England understood what America was trying to do.

"Does he really want to go?" Belarus asked. "Will it help him?"

America nodded.

"Yeah, Nat. You stab, then I'll stab, and Eng… L-Lithuania gets to go to heaven."

A sob tore from Belarus's throat as Austria handed her the knife, backing away and returning to his seat, where he bent over a sobbing Italy.

"Don't want to," she whispered. "I don't want him to hurt anymore."

"H-he can't feel it," America said. "He's a ghost, remember? It's just we've gotta stab him, us two, so he can go to heaven. It's just a weird thing, Nat. Come on. We gotta do it. If we d-don't, then someone else might die."

"Someone will die…if we don't send him to heaven?" Belarus asked. "T-then we have to… It will be better in heaven, right, Lithuania?"

England nodded, and America saw tears slipping down his face, and wished for a moment that he had explained to his older brother about Belarus and Lithuania. Maybe England could have helped them, but it was too late for that now, and Belarus was lunging forward, burying the knife in England's stomach.

England fell to his knees as Belarus pulled the knife out, blood fairly gushing from the wound.

Belarus turned away, sobbing, running back to her seat and burying her head in her hands.

"G-give me a minute, Alfie…" England murmured, gasping for breath. "No… Don't bother. You've been in enough wars. You know where to stab. Let's get this over with."

"I d-don't… I…"

"Alfred," England said, laughing weakly. "You just convinced Belarus that you were sending me to heaven. Now finish it. I will go to heaven-or somewhere better than this place, anyways. There's nothing you can do for me now except finish me off. Consider it a mercy kill. And don't you dare blame yourself, or I'll come back to haunt you. I'm magical, you know. I can do that."

America knelt in front of his brother, looking into fading green eyes and remembering what he had told Belarus, remembering dull green eyes from decades back, remembering Lithuania.

And he remembered when green eyes were bright, but they were not Lithuania's eyes any longer, they were England's, and England was smiling and singing to him. Then the light started to dull; England was crying…

"I've never hated you," America said. "Even in that war. That wasn't about _you_. It was…"

"For God's sake, Alfred, I'm about to die of blood loss, I don't have time for an apology," England said. He smiled softly, kindly, without a trace of malice.

"I know you have never hated me. I have never hated you. You will always be my little brother. Always. I love you, Alfie, and I don't blame you for this. Don't blame yourself, either. This is Panem's doing. Never yours."

America wondered if England's life flashed before his eyes. He knew his own did, knew that there were memories there that he had not even known he possessed. He was not the one on the receiving end of the knife, but nonetheless, everything went dark when the blade met flesh, although it killed his brother, and not him.

_"Big brother…"_

They met in a field long ago, and England was quick to claim him. At first, it had been about territory, but then, in the end, England had carried him home, protected him, taken care of him until he was old enough to take care of himself.

And then America found himself standing in a field, staring down at a wide-eyed toddler.

_"Um, who are you?" he asked, staring down at the girl, who looked up at him, her eyes full of trusting innocence._

_"I'm Panem."_

_"Okay. Well… Why are you here?"_

_She shrugged, as if it did not matter that a child no more than five years old had suddenly appeared in the middle of the United States of America._

_"I dunno. I just came here."_

_America felt a shadow of doubt flicker into his mind. This girl was undoubtedly a nation, and as he had found her, it was his duty to take care of her. He was not sure that he could do it, and for a moment, he considered calling England for help._

"Nah, why bother? He'll just tell me I'm stupid every time I screw up, anyways. I can handle this kid myself! How hard can it be?"

_"Well, I guess you'd better come home with me, then," he said. "I'll be your big brother. I'm a hero, so I'll definitely protect you!"_

_"Okay," Panem said. "C-can I call you big brother?"_

_America shrugged._

_"Sure. You can call me whatever you want."_

_He turned away, expecting Panem to follow. He saw her reach out her hand, then pull it back, but did not realize then that she wanted him to hold her hand, to lead her home instead of making her follow from a distance._

_He kept walking, and she followed, her hands clenched into tight fists, no longer reaching for America. And he, oblivious to the wishes of a child, did not offer her his hand._

_Even then, he was abandoning her._

_-"Written in Blood", Part One, End-_

* * *

**Wow. I actually did not expect to be able to get this part finished before this November, but I'm very glad I managed it! **

**Thank you all for your reviews, feedback, and support during the last eight months. I definitely wouldn't have kept working on this story without you guys. Honestly, I probably wouldn't be alive without the people on this site, so thank you all. :) This story has 172 reviews to date, the most I've ever gotten on a story. Thank you so much. :) **

**As you know, "Written in Blood" will resume in January, on either the first or the second of that month, which brings me to my next point. Would any of you all prefer Friday afternoon updates to Saturday morning updates, or would you like the updates to continue on Saturdays? I'm considering moving WiB's update to Friday nights in January, so tell me your thoughts on that, please. **

**My other ongoing fanfiction projects, "Invisible" and "After Insanity", will continue to be updated during the WiB hiatus, and I'll attempt to update "Invisible" weekly, either on Friday evening or Saturday morning, depending on what you guys prefer as to update times. I'll also probably be writing a few other little things during that time.**

**Well, this is the end of part one. In Microsoft Word, this fanfiction is a total of 137,468 words, 309 pages. This is only the first part, but it's already as long as a book! I've improved my writing a lot since February, and I've learned a lot more about what I want to write in the future. Thank you all for your support, and I'll definitely see you all when this fic resumes in January, if not before! If you'd like, check out my other stories; I'd really appreciate it! **

**See ya around, and thank you so much! **

**~Shadows in the Light of Day **


	33. Hopeless

**Sooooooo, anyone remember this story? xD I know it's been a while, but, starting today, _Written in Blood_ is officially back to being updated! **

**This chapter takes place roughly twenty-four hours after the events of the preceding chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it, and will continue to enjoy this second part of _Written in Blood_!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three: Hopeless

He kept turning to England only to find that his brother was not there. Part of him still expected England to be there, although the other part knew his brother was gone forever.

It had to be a dream. This time, it absolutely had to be a dream. If he could just find England, then surely his brother would tell him that it had been a dream.

But he kept turning around, calling for England, and England was nowhere to be found. He knew what that meant, but he kept on denying it, determined not to accept the truth. Denial was the only way to keep sane in a situation like this, a situation to horrible for words. It seemed to be working for Italy; there was no reason why it would not work for him.

It wasn't working. England had to be dead, for America knew that England had been in their cell before, and that they had been taken out of their cell, and England had not come back.

"But he's going to," he whispered to the silent loneliness of the prison cell. "He's coming back. He has to. I c-can't… There's no way I really killed him! That h-has to have been a dream."

He knew it wasn't a dream. Dreams were never so clear in memory, and yet every moment of the bloody scene in the conference room was etched into his mind.

_"China, Estonia, Latvia, Iceland, Austria, Italy, Belarus, and me. If it had been a dream, I wouldn't remember exact the order in which we stabbed him. If it had been a dream, England would be here…"_

Someone opened the cell door, and America looked up quickly, new hope blossoming for an instant before he saw Estonia standing there. The Baltic boy looked tired and sad, and when he saw America looking at him, he sighed and looked away.

"I'm sorry. I'm not England."

"He's not coming back, is he?" America whispered.

_"Estonia's too far gone to try lying to me now. If it was little Latvia, it would be different, but Eduard doesn't have the energy to lie anymore..."_

"What do you want me to tell you?" Estonia whispered. "If you want me to lie, I will."

"Will it make it better?" America asked, leaning against the wall of his cell, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Will it make it go away? Will it make me forget? Will it make England come back?"

"No," Estonia said. "But you'll be able to pretend, like Italy's doing. That is what he's doing, isn't it? Pretending he dreamed all of this?"

"I think so," America said. "But…that's…not going to work for me now, is it? Because I know, even though I want to convince myself that I don't. I know England's dead. I know we killed him."

"Panem killed him," Estonia said. "It's…"

"It is in every way my fault, and you know it is!" America snapped. Estonia flinched, and suddenly America wanted to cry.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. All this is my fault and I shouldn't snap at you for trying to make me feel better. That just makes it worse."

"I don't think it can get much worse for me," Estonia said. "As long as Panem doesn't hurt Latvia-and I don't think she will-she's driven me about as far as she can. Snap all you like."

There was a quiet clang as Estonia set a plate of food down on the floor. He bent to place a glass of water next to it with a careful air that reminded America of England.

"Does everything remind you of Toris?" he asked, very quietly.

The water glass slipped through Estonia's fingers and fell to the floor. It was made of metal, so nothing was broken, only a puddle of water and an unharmed metal cup remaining to show that Estonia had slipped.

"Damn," America said. "I did it again."

_"Slipped up again, stupid, inconsiderate, careless jerk…"_

"I'd rather you say stupid things to me and apologize than say stupid things and ignore the consequences," Estonia said. "At least you're learning to recognize the existence of other people."

This time it was America who flinched.

"So you do blame me."

"I wouldn't say that," Estonia said, sitting down next to him against the wall. "I think you've done far less damage than I could have done in your place. If me or Russia had had charge of Panem…things would be much worse."

"Nah," America said. "You're both scared of being alone, and that's half of Panem's problem. If she hadn't been ignored…"

"_I_ wasn't ignored," Estonia said, "and neither was Russia. There are two sides to loneliness and insanity, and she could have gotten to where she is by a very different path than the one she's taken. You're not the only person who could have done this to her."

"But I did," America said. "That makes me the one to blame. How many people are dead because me, now?"

"Iceland's family," Estonia said. "Ukraine. Japan… Germany too, going by what Italy says… And…well…Toris and Arthur, I suppose. But none of that's your fault. Panem had them killed. There is no one to blame but her."

"Then does that make you to blame?" America asked. "For the things you've done, and only those things? You don't blame yourself for how things you've done have affected things others have done?"

"My brother didn't become a serial killer!" Estonia snapped, and, all in an instant, America remembered that Estonia could probably kill him if he tried.

"And _I'm _not a serial killer, but my sister became one," America said.

"I'm n-not a serial killer," Estonia whispered. "I'm not."

The blond boy put his hands over his ears, his body quivering, and America laid his hand on Estonia's shoulder, trying to steady him.

"I didn't mean it like that, Ed."

"I know," Estonia whispered, blue eyes wide and vacant. "That doesn't make them shut up, though."

"I'm sorry," America said. "I didn't mean it."

"I said I know," Estonia muttered. "They're still not being quiet. Maybe you should apologize to _them_; see if that makes a difference."

"Sorry, Eduard's voices," America said.

Estonia giggled.

"That didn't help. But it _was_ funny. Thank you."

"Yeah. You're welcome."

Estonia stared at the floor, blue eyes vacant and very far away.

"If you're planning to break, do it the way Latvia is," he said at last. "He doesn't have the benefit of a bunch of extra people inside his head."

"I don't think I'm selfless enough for Latvia's method of going nuts," America said. "I never could match Lithuania in terms of self-sacrifice, anyways."

"Me neither," Estonia said. "No matter how hard I tried…I couldn't be like either of them."

* * *

"Yeah," America said. "I could never…could never match England, either."

Estonia leaned back against the wall, watching the older boy, trying to decide if America was in shock or denial, or some mixture of the two.

"You're not upset," he said. "About England, I mean. You're…why are you so calm?"

_"Every time Lithuania died in the past, and especially now, I blamed myself. I know it's my fault that Lithuania ended up the way he was at the end. I know it was my fault that he begged Panem to kill him. And I…I may not cry about it now, but I thought America would cry about England. He cried when Japan died…he cried when he had to torture me. Why not now?"_

"It hasn't hit me yet," America murmured. "I guess that's what it is. I mean, some part of me obviously knows England is dead. I know he's not coming back, but…it's not really connecting in my head, yet. When it does, I'm gonna break down, and it'll be bye-bye, sane Alfred. But…right now…I still…I just can't imagine a world without Arthur in it!"

"I'm guessing you've never seen him die before," Estonia muttered.

"Not to my knowledge," America said. "Although…"

He broke off, laughing bitterly.

"I would probably have been too oblivious to notice he was dying, huh? I mean…I was a jerk. If he did die in the past, in front of me, I didn't take it seriously at all. Because he is…I mean, he was…England. He was the kind of person that never died, you know? Not even when he was supposed to. A-and…I just don't want to believe he's gone. Because it's like…like, if I believe it, it makes it real. Like, when Panem bombed the world meeting…I didn't believe it…and, for a while, it was like it wasn't real."

"You should have kept not believing," Estonia said. "It seems to be working quite well for Italy. He's the sanest one here, I think, except maybe Austria and China. And Austria just arrived here…"

_"Who next? Who's left? I don't want anyone else to be caught here. I've been through enough for ten people in this place; I don't want any more people to suffer this way. The other survivors need to be free somewhere. They need to be happy for those of us who can't. But with every death, the likelihood of anyone surviving this seems to dwindle. What if we all die here? I don't want to die here!"_

"I'm not as good as Italy, I guess," America said. "I mean…the little guy is practically an angel. I'm pretty sure he still has zero idea what happened back in the day, with all those big wars…or, if he knows, he's rationalized it somehow, moved on. He's so innocent that none of this is able to effect him, somehow."

"Angels tend to go one of two ways," Estonia murmured. "Either they're like Italy, with pain unable to touch them…or…"

_"Angels die die die get hurt cry when others get hurt Raivis Toris why why why…"_

"Or they're like Toris and Raivis, and it hurts them too much," America said.

_"Demons can't help can't help can't help I need to help let me help…"_

"Eduard… Eduard?"

"I need to go," he said. "I can't stay here any longer."

"Yeah," America said. "You'll…you'll probably get into trouble if you stay, right?"

Estonia nodded and stood up, picking up the discarded water glass as he did so.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said. "And, Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"England did not blame you for what happened to him," Estonia said. "I know there's no comfort in that-a part of my mind knows Toris didn't blame me for his fate, but…but it doesn't help me. But you need to know that the only person England blamed for his death was Panem. He…he knew something that we all needed to take note of. We're all pawns in her hand."

_"If she is the queen, able to make any move on the board swiftly and with precision… I wonder, is Raivis the king that she wants to protect? Kings aren't as useful as pawns in the battle…but kings are much less willingly sacrificed…and Panem hasn't directly harmed Raivis yet."_

* * *

Latvia felt like a marionette, trapped in the hands of a most skilled puppet-master. He hated that feeling.

The tiny boy had returned to his room directly after feeding his allotted group of prisoners-Belarus, Iceland, and Austria-, not wanting to face Estonia's attempts to comfort him.

He wanted to be alone for a while, because Estonia kept on trying to comfort him, and that made him want to cry. He had been trying not to cry ever since England had died, because he knew that however much Estonia tried to make him feel better, it was actually Estonia who would be most affected if he was unable to cope with the situation. Estonia wouldn't be able to cope if _he_ was unable to cope, so he was going to have to try to stay strong in front of his brother.

He could barely see the sky from his window, and below him was visible only another wall and a small section of yard. Latvia spent a lot of time at the window, looking out through the bars at what little of the world was visible to him.

He looked out now and thought that now there was another person who would never touch the outside world again, unless it was as cold earth fell over his body to bury him. And dead eyes could see nothing, so even burial would not give England another chance to feel the open air.

"Mr. England is dead," he said to the tiny patch of sky, which was blue and heavily streaked with clouds. "I can't save anybody. We all had to stab him, and it was horrible, but he didn't scream at all. I would have screamed so loud…but he didn't. A-all the strongest and best people are dying…while people like me still remain…"

Latvia started to cry, small hands grasping the bars on his window as if subconsciously trying to break them in half, as if trying feebly to escape the pain that stalked all who were imprisoned in Panem's fortress.

"I'm the one person who should be able to get Panem to stop hurting people. The one person…who should be able to stop this. I wish she would just let me trade myself for everyone else's safety. It's me she wants! M-maybe…if she had something to distract her, to help her forget about getting revenge…"

"But revenge is the whole point, darling."

"You've never called me that before," Latvia said. "Usually it's sweetie. Or Raivis. Usually one of those. But never darling."

"Well," said Panem, and Latvia felt her fingers in his hair. "I thought I'd move to the next level."

"I don't… I don't want to talk right now," Latvia told her. "I'm crying. I'm no fun like this."

"You're fun all the time."

He did not want to look at her, but her fingers were clutching his hair, and he knew she would start pulling if he did not acknowledge her.

"Why is revenge the point?" he asked, turning to face Panem, who released his hair as he turned. "Why can't happiness be the point?"

"Because I want my revenge," Panem said. "After that, when you're the only one left…then, happiness."

"What about my happiness?" Latvia asked. "What if what makes you happy makes me sad?"

"Then you'll just have to get over it," Panem said. "I've lived too long unhappy to let you mess up my plans now, Lati dear."

"That's Eddy's nickname," Latvia said. "Find a new one."

"Would you prefer to be called Fluffy?" Panem asked, her voice cold for an instant. "I'll call you whatever I want. You can no more stop me from doing that than you can stop me from hurting your friends."

"You're right," Latvia said, turning back to stare out the window. "I can't stop you. But I wish I could."

She said nothing, but he felt her gaze on his back and knew that she was looking him over, watching him, wanting him.

_"I don't understand why she doesn't just take me. Go on, Panem, take me. Maybe it would make you happy. What if I agreed…? But it couldn't be because I really want it. I just want to distract you, to keep you away from the others. By making you happy, I'd really be taking advantage of you, getting what I want while giving you what you desire. There's no way…that either of us can be happy like this."_

"Is there any way I can make you happy?" he asked. "Can't I do something that will make revenge not matter?"

"No," Panem said. "You see, Raivis…I want my revenge, and I also want you. Those things are equal in my mind, but when I say I want you, I want all of you. I want you to be mine, with no one else to distract you."

"It'd be better if you locked me up and never let me see anyone else again!" Latvia blurted.

_"What've I done? No, please, don't listen to me… Don't lock me up! I can't be locked up, not again…"_

"Then you'd hate me," Panem said. She was right behind him again, putting her arms around him, hands in his hair and he _hated_ the way she touched him, as if he belonged to her.

"I already do," he said. "And I miss Perri. Panem scares me an awful lot."

"Panem enjoys being scary," she said, harsh and without feeling, not caring what he thought of her as long as he_ belonged_ to her. "I'll convince you not to hate me in time. But certain distractions have to be eliminated first."

_"Eddy. Eirikur. Miss Belarus, Mr. America…everyone, really. She's got to kill them all, so she can have me alone. It's really sick, but…it's the sort of thing…that Mr. Russia might have done."_

"I could still be yours," he said, hearing treacherous, useless hope in his voice. "I would love to be yours, if only…if only everyone else could be happy again."

"That's the trouble, darling," Panem said. "For everyone else to be happy again, living their selfish lives, oblivious to others' pain…that would make me very unhappy."

_"And so for your happiness we must all suffer. I wish I'd had the sense to love you when it mattered. Then maybe we could all be happy. But now I'm just a puppet. I can't do anything to change the things you do…and…I also…can never love you. You remind me too much of Mr. Russia, and of Eddy, insane. I can't love somebody who wants to destroy everyone else. I just…I just want everyone to be happy. But there's nothing I can do about it. I am, and will forever remain, as nothing more than Panem's toy."_

* * *

_"Natalya, _don't_!"_

She could no longer tell if the screaming was inside her head or on Panem's cursed audio track. This shouldn't be on that audio track. Panem had not been alive back then, in the Soviet days; there was no way there was a tape of what had happened there.

But she had stabbed Lithuania and she could hear his voice in her head as if it had been only yesterday that she had stabbed him.

"It _was _yesterday," she whispered, staring blankly at the wall of her cell. "I stabbed his ghost. America said it was his ghost and we had to send him to heaven. B-but why…?"

She wanted to cry and scream and beg Lithuania to forgive her, but then, he was not there. He was dead and gone-even his ghost had gone-and she would never have the chance to tell him she was sorry.

She would have given anything for the chance to tell him she was sorry. But there, in that conference room, when she had had the chance, she had frozen and then she had stabbed him, and she had not even had the decency to apologize for all she had done to him, to an innocent boy who, more than anyone else, deserved the best of life.

_"No killing… Please… I hate it when people get hurt… When they die… The only person who needs to die…is me. Because…I don't want to live…anymore."_

"Did you say that before I pretended to hate you or after? I don't remember. I don't know! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Please let us go back, I won't do it again… It will be different! I'll fix you…"

He was already gone and she knew he was already gone, but she wanted him back more than anything else. She wanted to stop hearing the echoes of his screams, wanted to stop waking in the night screaming apologies.

She wanted to remember Lithuania as he had been when she had first loved him, as a brave and desperate boy who would have done anything to protect the siblings he valued above all else. She still remembered him as that boy, but more than that, she remembered him dying, in agony. She remembered stabbing him, twice now, and she would have done anything to take it back.

Belarus wanted to take Lithuania in her arms, and, if she could only have had that chance again, instead of destroying him, she would have healed him.

_"But it's too late to save you… Could I ever have saved you? I don't know, I don't know… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…it wasn't supposed to be like this. I loved you."_

* * *

_"It should have been me."_

Considering the circumstances, this was a completely illogical conclusion to come to, but after spending twenty-four hours alone in his cell, thirsty and weaker than ever after the previous day's events, China had come to such a conclusion.

The petite nation had not even tried to sleep since he had been returned to his cell, and he knew, when Estonia appeared, that the blond nation could tell.

"You have an hour, don't you?" Estonia asked. "You can sleep, I'll stay and…"

"I don't want to sleep," China said. "I'm thinking."

And he _was_ thinking. He had been thinking, ever since the moment that Estonia grabbed his wrist and manipulated his weak hands into stabbing England, that it should have been him who had died.

"She does things most unfairly," he said, and Estonia eyed him with a manner that seemed to be both confused and worried.

China sighed and tried to sit up, but found that lying on his side was much preferable to the horrid, headachy sensation that he got if he tried to raise himself to a sitting position.

"I am going to die soon," he said, "and if that girl had any sense of decency…"

"She wants you broken down," Estonia said. "But it's too late to starve England-she didn't care about starving him. She wanted to make a big show, and it was easier with someone…"

"Go on, Estonia," China mumbled, closing his eyes. "I'm not good company. I'll only argue with you."

_"And you don't need the arguments of a dying old man to make you even more confused. You're confused enough, child."_

Estonia went away without a word, and China suddenly wondered if he would be able to drink on his own.

_"It doesn't matter. I will die soon, whether or not I am able to drink now."_

He wondered how long they had been there now, trying to calculate, trying to distract himself from the ominous fact that he would soon fall asleep of his own accord, and he did not know when he would wake, if he would ever wake. But more than that, he tried to distract himself from the pounding, repetitive thoughts in his mind.

_"It should have been me."_

Those words, repeated over and over by a failing mind, had started to torment him almost more than the actual knowledge that England was dead, and he had failed to save his friend.

It had only been four days since they killed Japan, and yet, for some reason, China's mind was obsessing over England's death, and not over his own younger brother's.

_"It just happened, and this time I am to blame as much as Panem. The first blow was mine no matter how you look at it, even if it was by Panem's order. I don't… Why did he die? Why do these people die? Japan and England were among the strongest people here, and I…I am dying, and yet those people who were strong and healthy are being killed before my eyes, as I continue to live. Dying…is such a slow process for me. It always has been. I have been dying since the day I was born, in a way. All nations begin a slow demise at the day of their birth, for no matter how hard we strive to become great and invincible creatures beyond pain, sorrow follows us no matter where we go. Yes…nations are always dying, even when they are children. But the final, total death came so swiftly for England, for Japan, and for the rest of my family. But for me…it's terribly slow…and I am already so tired."_

* * *

**(Yes, Estonia is acting far too sane. Again. No, I don't know why.)**

**I'm probably not going to attempt those big, rambling explanations that I kept up in the first part, because, quite honestly, no one was reading them anyways, were they? xD Also I don't think I have time to write them out. **

**ONE IMPORTANT NOTE: Some of you are following my other story, _Invisible_, and if you read the last update, you already know what my update schedule will be. To those who don't know: I will be alternating weeks on updating my stories until _Invisible_ is complete, at which time I will begin updating _Written in Blood_ weekly again. In the past, I would have planned to update each story weekly, but because of certain changes in my life right now, I think it would be best for me to update only once a week. I hope this update schedule is agreeable to all of you! :) Thank you for your support; it means a lot to me that people would read my stories. **


	34. The Mark of a Demon

**Welp, I'm updating a day early, since I'm going away for the weekend. I'll be back on Monday, so don't expect anything from me until then. However, I have been informed that certain people realllyyyy wanted a chapter this week, so here it is! :) I hope you all enjoy it! **

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Mark of a Demon

Estonia walked into his room to find the girl he hated the most petting his little brother's hair.

He ought to have been used to this by now, but he still wanted to break her fingers and shout at her for hurting his brother, for even daring to _touch_ Latvia after what she had done to him.

The little boy had not cried since England's death, but Estonia knew that Latvia wanted to cry, and he wanted to do it in peace. He had delayed his return as much as possible, talking to America, to China, to Italy, giving Latvia time alone.

He did not like being alone, and he did not see how Latvia could stand to be alone for any amount of time, but he knew Latvia would keep trying to be brave as long as he was there with him. So he stayed in the prison for a time, giving Latvia time alone, only to return and see that Panem had stolen that time.

"Why don't you leave him alone?" he asked, standing in the doorway, glaring at Panem. "Can't you see he doesn't like you?"

"Really now, Estonia," Panem said, stroking Latvia's hair even as she turned to face Estonia. "I think it's you who doesn't like me. Raivis likes me fine, don't you, darling?"

"I'd like you better if you'd compromise," Raivis murmured, but he did not move or make any sign that he wanted Panem to let go of him.

_"I want to knock her out the window, incinerate her… I want to do something horrible to her, so that she can never touch him again."_

"Compromise is awfully dull," Panem said. "I prefer as much violence as possible in all of my dealings, and that, my dear Raivis, is something your compromise would no doubt restrict."

Her sharp eyes settled on Estonia, and he looked away automatically, afraid of the promises in her eyes. He had learned by now how to tell when Panem was planning to hurt him, and he was afraid of what he would see.

"Speaking of blood," Panem said, "you'll be coming with me, Eduard."

_"Damn."_

He wondered for a moment how it was that he could be so calm now, when she told him to come with her, although he knew she was going to torture him again. She never took him away to do anything kind to him, unlike Latvia, who was reserved for petting and kissing.

_"And he hates it, because it's her. If it was someone he loved…but, then, he did love her, to some degree. He's just afraid of her as she is now. He'd be afraid of me if I was like that-he _was_ afraid of me when I was insane. He has every right to be afraid, and yet…he doesn't know what I would do to be him, to have someone wanting me the way Panem wants him."_

And then blind panic took over, and all sensibility was gone.

_"She's going to hurt me again... I don't want it, make it stop, I don't want to be hurt anymore! It hurts too much…"_

All the things she had already done to him, and his mind still had enough pieces holding together for him to have moments of rationality. But torture would destroy all that, one day, and he was not ready to lose the last remnants of his sanity.

"Estonia, really," Panem said, and he realized that he was backing toward the door. "Do you think you can run away from me in my own headquarters?"

"Please don't hurt him," Latvia said, and Panem laughed.

"Weren't we just talking about my plans for the future?" she asked. "Don't you know that those plans involve me hurting your darling Eddy…in every way possible?"

Latvia looked as if he was about to cry, and Estonia tried to resist the urge to bolt down the corridor and try to find a way out of this place, out of this prison.

Finding a way out now would mean leaving Latvia behind, and that was something he could not do.

_"If he's left here, alone, there will be nothing left to stop him from giving himself to Panem. Even Raivis will get lonely eventually, and lonely people do desperate, insane things. I should know. I don't want him to be left alone here at her mercy. I can't run away. There was never any chance to run away, anyways. My demons follow me around no matter where I go, lurking in the shadows, waiting for moments of vulnerability. Like now. Right now…it's… Stop! Don't tell me to run if you are also going to tell me I deserve to be tortured! These things are confusing me! Pick one opinion and stick to it… Don't confuse me like this… My head…my head hurts! You're making my head hurt, please, be quiet…"_

The voices in his head would not be quiet, and Panem was not being quiet either.

"Eduard, for God's sake, stop making that pathetic noise. You're not hurt yet. Now come along."

He had not noticed until then that he was whimpering, but Latvia was staring at him as if he was either hypnotized or terrified, and Estonia bit his lip, trying to stop the whimpering.

"I'll be fine," he whispered, releasing his lip from his teeth for a moment. He did not know if he was talking to himself or to Latvia, but he saw the smaller boy look away, and knew that Latvia did not believe it possible that he would be all right when Panem brought him back.

_"And I will not be all right. It would be foolish to assume that I could be all right after dealing with her. But, for him…can't I pretend for a moment? He used to be able to play pretend."_

Latvia looked up at him for an instant, violet eyes filled with tears, and Estonia thought that he had never seen his brother look so sad. But then, Latvia was sad all the time now, quieter and more in pain than he had been even in the days when they had been ruled by the Soviet Union.

He wanted to run to Latvia, to embrace him and make it all better, but Latvia was already turning away, going to stand at the window and look out on the tiny piece of earth that was all they would ever see of the outside world as long as they remained with Panem.

Estonia turned away as well, taking advantage of his brother's distraction as an opportunity to slip away.

"Eddy."

Latvia was watching him again, and there were tears on his face and anguish in his voice.

"Please come back."

And he would have promised to come back, but before he could say anything, the door closed between them.

"I ought to make him watch," Panem said. "But he'd only cry when he saw what I'm going to do to you, and that's no fun. Raivis is so much prettier when he's happy."

"You've made him unhappy," Estonia said. "He'll never laugh for you."

"I think he will, in time," Panem said, smiling. "I just have to be patient. And, unlike you, Estonia, I know how to wait for what I want. I've been waiting for my revenge for years, after all. I can wait a little while longer to win Raivis' affections."

_"I hate you I hate you I hate you… How dare you treat my brother like an object to be taken whenever it pleases you? How dare you?"_

Anger, Estonia thought, was good. It kept him distracted from his own impending torment, kept him defiant and hateful toward Panem until the elevator halted in the prison wing. Then he remembered, and he froze in the hallway, suddenly unwilling to go any further.

"Well, Eduard, if you'd like, we can do it right here," Panem said. "How does that sound to you?"

_"She's going to hurt me, why did I come down here, why do you never fight? Stupid, coward Eduard, why don't you fight?"_

"I don't want you to do it at all," he whispered, edging away from her, only to find himself backed up against the closed elevator doors.

"I know," Panem said, her voice almost sweet for a moment. "But you don't want me to hurt anyone else, do you?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice, when she spoke, was cold as ice and hard as stone.

"And you_ are_ a demon, aren't you? Demons must be punished and branded for what they are. So, come on, Eduard. It's time we marked you as the demon you are."

He started to shake, his hands quivering even as he groped for the elevator button, seeking desperately for a means of escaping Panem.

And then his mind reminded him that he _was_ a demon, that he most surely deserved to be punished for being such a creature, and all his panic left, replaced by a heavy, numb foreboding.

"Why must you hurt me?" he whispered, and Panem laughed.

"Because it amuses me, Eddy dear," she said. "And because you are, after all, a creature worthy of punishment."

She was walking down the hallway; he followed as if in a dream, only to find himself in the bare, bloodied room where he had been tormented so many times already.

"I'm not going to chain you this time," Panem said. "I think you'll agree that you deserve this, and I expect you to take it without fighting me too much."

"What are you going to do?" he whispered. He knelt on the floor, knowing that she would want him there, and began unbuttoning his shirt almost robotically, despite his shaking hands. She usually whipped him, or beat him with that accursed metal pipe, and she always became angry if he did not get his shirt off quickly enough.

"Well," Panem said, "you called me a demon yesterday. And when I asked you what you'd called me, Latvia told me that you think of yourself as a demon, too."

_"Curse him. You'd think he'd learn to control his tongue. Raivis, I know it's not your fault and I shouldn't blame you but _how could you_…?"_

"So, I was thinking…" Panem said. "I don't have the means to give you wings, or anything, otherwise I'd find a way to give you demon wings, those big bat-looking things. But, given the circumstances, we'll have to settle for a less obvious mark. After all…demons should be known for what they are, so angels stay away."

_"Demon demon demon demon everyone will know…"_

"Please don't." The words caught in his throat; he felt as if he were being strangled, and yet he tried to plead with Panem, desperate and terrified.

"Please…please, don't… Everyone will hate me…"

"You should have thought of that before you tried to label someone else as the monster that you alone are," Panem said. She had something in her hand-something hot and metal, and Estonia flinched away, only for her to grab his arm, halting him.

"Eduard," she said. "You _are_ a demon. If you weren't, don't you think someone would have loved you? Don't you think, if you weren't a demon, that one of your friends would have come to love you as they did their partners? Why do you think Finland chose Sweden over you? Why do you think Ukraine never loved you, although she had no one else?"

Her eyes blazed with cruelty, and he wanted to believe that she was lying, but this was what he had thought all along, and having someone else say it him was both relieving and utterly agonizing.

"This has all happened to you because you are a demon," Panem murmured, kneeling in front of him, her hand cupping his cheek. "It's because of that that they do not love you. They can sense the darkness."

_"So I never went insane? The madness was here all along? I've always been evil? That's why…that's why…they all left me…"_

She moved behind him, still on her knees, and when she pressed something agonizingly hot into his back he did not understand it at first, until he noticed the other weapons in the room.

They were not weapons, really, but brands, heated red-hot and shaped in the form of letters.

_"E, M, O, N… Oh… No no no no…"_

"Please don't," he whispered, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out as the metal burned him. "Please, please stop, I don't want it…"

"Of course you don't," Panem said. "I hardly think demons choose to be evil. But they do choose the level of their evil, and you, Eduard… You've killed _me_, for one. You attempted to kill Russia in the Soviet house…"

_"I killed Raivis on a snowy night after we left the Soviet Union. I murdered my brother. I don't deserve to live."_

The pain stopped for a moment, and he screamed when it started again, because she was on the 'M' now, she was not going to stop, he was going to have that word on his back _forever_…

"Don't! Panem, don't, for the love of God…"

"You use the funniest expressions when you're hurt," Panem chortled. "As if God has anything to do with you or me or whether or not I'm going to stop hurting you."

He wondered how she could press a hot iron to his back and stroke his hair at the same time.

"And even if God cared about humans, he most certainly does not look out for demons, Eduard. God cares only for his angels. Which, I assume, is why you've never had any luck in this world."

He started to cry, shuddering sobs that, he was sure, made it just a bit harder for Panem to press those iron letters into his back. It never occurred to him to run, although the door was unlocked and he was unbound. There was nowhere he could run to, and even if he could have run away, he would not have.

He did not want Panem to hurt him, but the voices in his head did. Those voices told him that he deserved this, and they doomed him to forever wear the mark of his inhumanity.

He cried for help that would not come, for solace and comfort and friendship that had been forever denied to him. And yet, as he cried, he knew that he deserved all this pain, and more.

There was no mercy, whether in heaven or on earth, for demons.

* * *

Estonia wanted Latvia to be somewhere else when he came back, but he knew that it was not to be. The tiny boy would be in their room, and there was nothing he could do to prevent Latvia from seeing his newest injuries. Panem had not given back his shirt.

Latvia was curled up on Estonia's bed, sobbing. The moment the door opened, however, he seemed to be trying desperately to hide the tears.

One of the prison guards shoved Estonia inside, and the blond boy sobbed as the man's rough hands scraped the burns on his back.

"Eddy…" Latvia was so quick to come to him when he was hurt, and always so slow to leave and save himself, just as Lithuania had been, long ago, when he had had strength and energy to care for them.

"Hey, Raivis," Estonia murmured, as his brother knelt in front of him, violet eyes worried and sad.

"You're hurt," Latvia said. "We've got to fix it up, or…"

"I think, this time, it would be better to leave it," Estonia said. "Where's my other shirt, Lati?"

"Ed." Latvia's voice was firm, almost the voice of a mother who was determined to fix all her child's hurts, no matter what the child thought of it. "Please show me what happened so I can fix it. You don't need any more of those terrible scars."

"I don't need you to see my scars, either!" Estonia snapped. "I can take care of myself!"

_"I deserve these scars, Lati. I deserve every single one of them."_

Latvia reached up, small hands stroking Estonia's face.

"You're crying," he said. "You're already so sad, and I'm not going to let you be lonely, too. I'm not a little kid anymore, Eddy. I…I really haven't ever been a little kid in this place. I haven't been a little kid since we lived with Mr. Russia. Maybe I held onto a little more of my childhood then-maybe that's why I can stay sane, and you can't. But I'm not fragile. I'm not going to break, unless you refuse to let me help you. I know I can't save you, Eddy, but I really want to try. Not even having the chance to try will kill me."

"Trying to save me will hurt you, maybe even kill you, Raivis," Estonia murmured desperately.

_"Please stop trying to be our brother. He's gone, and that's for the best. This world would benefit if there were a thousand million people like you and Toris, but there are only a few, and those few get so caught up in trying to save everyone else that they forget they were ever supposed to save themselves, and so they die in agony, believing they helped no one, although they did. I don't want you to end up like that! I don't want you to die like Toris did, so torn apart that you believe you deserve it for not saving everyone."_

"I know," Raivis said. "But not trying will hurt me the most. I know I can't save you. I've known it since the start. There's no one here that I can save. I'm not at peace with that. I'll keep begging Panem to let me save you, even though I know it will do no good. Because maybe, just maybe, I've underestimated her. Maybe I still have an opportunity to fix her, to save all of you. Perhaps that opportunity will present itself. More likely, it will not. But, no matter what happens, I know that I will fail to save everyone. Failing is…is something that can't be avoided, now. This is the end of the world, and there's nothing I can do to stop it, really. But I can try to make you better for a little while. E-Eddy…if I can't do even such a simple thing as that…then I'm useless to everyone…and that's even worse…than failing to save you. If I can make you feel a little better…then my existence may not have been an accident!"

"Why would you think your existence was an accident?" Estonia demanded. "Raivis, you…"

_"You are an angel, you're the most wonderful person I know, and you've saved me from myself time and time again. How could you ever think of yourself as an accident?"_

"The fact that I exist at all is obviously a freak accident," Latvia said. "I've almost always been ruled by others, and I have to rely on you and Toris to keep me sane when I'm independent, because I'm so scared of messing things up. I know the government isn't under my control, but even so, being a nation is a big responsibility. I've never felt like…like I'm good enough to succeed at being a nation. I always thought I'd be wiped from existence in the end."

"We've all been wiped from existence, Lati," Estonia murmured. "Panem is the only nation now. All the rest of us are just her victims."

"Yeah," Latvia said. "But…look at me, Eddy. Compared to other nations, I even physically look freakish. I mean…I'm awfully tiny, see?"

"So is Liechtenstein," Estonia said. "And most of the micronations are fairly small as well."

"But the micronations aren't real nations," Latvia said. "And most of them-Liechtenstein too-are physically younger than I am. And Liechtenstein, even if we are about the same age, is a girl! I'm a boy, and…and I'm tiny. I'm the kind of person who humans look at and say 'oh, what an adorable child he is'. It's always been like that. I'm never really recognized as a teenager. I'm okay with it, but…that doesn't happen to anyone else. No one else is as small as I am, and…and they don't act the way I do either. I've always been very childish, Eddy, and I don't know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Raivis," Estonia said, "There are a lot of nations who have imperfections. In fact, we all do. Russia looks and acts like a child, although he's obviously an adult. The same goes for America. Just because you look like a kid doesn't mean you're the most childish person in this place. In fact…I think you're probably more mature than I am."

"If you know that, why do you still try to protect me like I'm a child?" Latvia asked.

"Because I promised I would protect you, a long time ago. I…the day you were released from your confinement in Russia's attic…"

He remembered searching for Latvia, finally locating the boy, only to be knocked down and beaten, only to have Lithuania shout at him and call him a fool for trying to rescue Latvia on his own.

"On that day, when I found you and tried to rescue you, Russia told me that you and Lithuania would abandon me once we got our freedom," he said. "I…after the events of the past days, I believed him. By the time you were released, I believed that you and Lithuania would surely abandon me, but I still wanted to protect you. So I promised I would protect you both, even though I knew you would leave me behind."

Latvia stared up at him, tears in his eyes.

"You never told me exactly what happened."

"I didn't want you to blame yourself," Estonia said. "It's not your fault. But, you see, I was wrong. You didn't leave me. But I've already failed to protect Lithuania. He's gone, and that's my fault for not being strong enough to protect him despite the vow I made. So…even though you're stronger than me…I'm going to try to protect you. I want to keep part of my promise, Lati. I want to believe that my existence is worthwhile, too."

"Eddy…"

Latvia hugged him tightly, with a childish vigor, and yet, with utmost tenderness. Estonia leaned into his brother's embrace, and then, impulsively, he whispered the truth of his torture to Latvia.

"She's branded me a demon. Now everyone will know exactly what I am."

"I don't think so," Latvia said, looking up at Estonia and smiling his tragic child's smile. "I think that demons can't be identified so easily, Eddy. Actually, you know, there are no demons on earth. Demons are creatures in human religions. They're the opposite of angels. We don't even know if they're real, Eddy, and even if they are, we aren't demons or angels. Human beings can't be angels or demons."

The small boy paused, leaning against Estonia, his quiet warmth comforting the older boy.

"And, well… I know there aren't any demons on earth. Panem isn't a demon either…but I think the kind of person who would brand someone else as a demon, just to be cruel, must be pretty close to demonic. Not totally demonic, but still as far away as a human can get from being an angel."

"You can say that about her?" Estonia asked. "Even though you…?"

"I don't love her, Eddy," Latvia said. "I loved Perri. But she's not here anymore. Now we just have Panem, and she can't be called anything but evil and insane. She really is evil, Eddy. Unlike you and Russia…I don't think there's any way for her come back from insanity. I don't think there's any chance of this turning out okay."

Latvia had a reassuring smile, even when that smile was tainted with agony and tears.

"But let's not worry about that right now. Come on! I'll fix your back up, and maybe it won't scar too badly."

_"There may not be demons on earth, Lati…but there are most certainly angels. And you are one of them."_

* * *

In the middle of the night, America woke screaming from nightmares and realized that England was not coming back. He had been reliving the scene of his brother's death in his mind all day, and now, his sleep was haunted by the same scene, even more horrible in his nightmares than it had been in reality.

He screamed himself hoarse, alone his cell, pleading for Panem to reverse it, to reverse time, to give his brother back and stop all of this pain and sorrow, this madness that was destroying them all, the madness that had taken his brother away.

And then, gradually, as the hysterical agony subsided into aching sorrow, he remembered that it was his own fault that he had lost England, that hating Panem could do absolutely nothing for him. Hating Panem was what had gotten them there in the first place, in a way. For although he had not hated her as a little girl, she had believed he did, and it had led to her becoming the monster that she now was, hard and cruel and evil.

"I'm sorry." His voice was strangled, sobs still caught in his throat, although he no longer had the vocal capacity to utter them aloud. He had enough sorrow inside of him, he thought, that it would be possible for him to scream forever, cursing himself and all that he had done, if only his voice would hold out.

But all that he could do now was whimper, pathetic and alone, as his voice gave out slowly, leaving him lonely and silent in the darkness.

He was starting to realize why Estonia hated to be alone. He was still expecting England to come and make it better, although he knew that England was dead, knew that the entire reason for his sadness was the fact that England had been murdered. But he was so used to his brother's protection that having it ripped away so suddenly was almost impossible to come to terms with.

"I'm so sorry." He could only whisper now, hoarse and broken, crying in the dark. "I didn't mean for it to be like this. I thought I was a good brother. I'm so sorry I wasn't, I really thought I tried… But I didn't try hard enough. I'm sorry. I didn't want anyone to get hurt! I thought that everything would be just fine, I didn't know any better… Please stop hurting them! Don't hurt them anymore… P-please… Stop…stop killing everyone… I know better now… Just kill me, please, please…"

His sobs grew ever fainter, his voice growing raspy, every word growing harder to utter. America wondered how long he had been screaming for his voice to be giving out like this, but knew it did not matter. He was supposed to suffer for his wrongs, and so he deserved to lose not only his voice but all of his senses, and finally, his life. But no one else was supposed to suffer, and it was not for himself that he cried. He did not scream for his own release, but for the release of all those whom he had unwittingly destroyed with his folly.

He wanted to be released from his prison, too. He wanted all of them to be all right, himself included. But he believed, now, that he was the sole perpetrator of the events that had led Panem to where she was now, and he believed that he deserved to be punished most brutally for committing such a wrong.

But his punishment was not a punishment of physical pain, but of a mental anguish that could come only from seeing innocent people suffer for the wrongs that he alone had committed.


	35. What Has Been Lost

Chapter Thirty-Five: What Has Been Lost

They were out of food. It was Lithuania who discovered it, and Russia entered the kitchen at ten in the morning-he had not meant to sleep so late-to find the Lithuanian boy close to panic over the empty cupboards. There were empty boxes everywhere, and Lithuania's hair was a complete mess, a testimony to exactly how much he had been pulling on it in his panic.

"How did you not notice that we have no food?" Lithuania asked, shaking an empty cereal box at Russia, who shrugged.

"I thought that box had food in it. I throw things away when they have been emptied, Litva…"

"I haven't been near the cupboards," Lithuania grumbled. "I'm not allowed to go near the cupboards, so don't blame me for this."

Russia scrutinized the small brunet, who, for once, appeared to have some light in his eyes.

"I should stage little domestic emergences more often," he said. "It makes you alive."

Lithuania sighed, leaning on the countertop, suddenly looking very tired.

"If a state of blind panic is what it takes for me to feel alive," he said, "I don't want any of it."

"We should go get some food," Russia suggested.

_"You need to go outside. It's too dark in here and it makes you so sad, being inside in the dark…"_

"No, we shouldn't," Lithuania said. "You should. I'll be having a breakdown in the store, and then everyone in Panem-including, no doubt, Panem herself-will know who we are. I'm too paranoid now for public places, Ivan, you have to know that."

_"He was scared before and now he believes that if he goes outside he will break down completely. I have done this much to him? He wasn't like this when he left me before, was he…?"_

"It's not you," Lithuania said. "It's…well…I'm afraid of being caught, Ivan. When I…when I left you…well…I was convinced for a while that every stranger was there to kidnap me, to take me back to you. It's the same here. I…if it turned out that one of the people outside was working for Panem…"

"Litva," Russia said, "I will not be caught."

"I know," Lithuania said. "But…it's… I don't know. It's a phobia, I suppose. From trying to get away for so long."

"I am sorry," Russia said, and Lithuania shook his head.

"It wasn't your fault. I promise you it wasn't. You were practically being brainwashed by your boss, it's not…"

"And I did not have the sense to see that I was being controlled," Russia said, "so I did some very bad things to you, and for that I am sorry."

He surveyed the wrecked kitchen, noting that he would have to clean it up when he came home.

_"Toris has cleaned up enough of my messes in the past. I can surely clean up a few of his."_

"You shall have to stay in my room until I am back," he said. "I do not want to come back and find you dead, Toris."

"I won't…" Lithuania trailed off tiredly, his green eyes dulling as he stared at the counter. When he spoke again, it was in a defeated tone. Yet there was a hint of panic in that voice, and it scared Russia for a moment. "You're right, Ivan. That's probably for the best. Just…promise you'll let me out again?"

_"Oh. Of course."_

"I'm so sorry," he said, and he had the urge to embrace Lithuania, to touch the boy's face and hair and tell him that he would never be imprisoned again if he had anything to do with it. But he did not deserve to touch Lithuania, let alone to love him, and he would not risk frightening him.

Lithuania shook his head.

"I forgave you a long time ago. I just…I want you to promise that you're not going to keep me locked in there forever. Will you promise that?"

Russia nodded.

"I will promise, most willingly. And this time, Litva…what I do to protect you really is for your good. You will not harmed this time. I promise."

Lithuania's smile was tired and faint, but he did smile, and for that, Russia was grateful.

_"He is so sad now, and…it hurts. It hurts very much to see him like this. I'm so glad that he was able to smile for a moment, even if it was probably a fake smile. I wish…I wish that he would always smile happily. That would make _me _the happiest person alive."_

* * *

Austria sat alone in his cell and waited, twisting his bruised fingers together and wondering how long it would be until Panem really tortured him.

She had stomped on his hand when she caught him, her heavy boots bruising and nearly breaking several of his fingers. She seemed to realize when he shouted for her not to mutilate his fingers exactly what it would do to him if she did, for her eyes lit up with a kind of twisted joy that he had seen in other eyes in the past, and he knew what that kind of mad excitement did to people, knew what people with madness in their eyes would do to him.

But she had taken him to prison, untouched except for his bruised fingers, and left him to wait. He did not like waiting, especially when he was alone. Being alone left him with no option but to think on his inevitable fate and the fates of the others. He had not seen much yet of what had gone on already in Panem's prison, but he knew, from seeing the others the day before, that what had already transpired had been nothing less than cruel and inhumane, and that _terrified_ him.

He thought that each of the others must have been tortured in a specific way, to get them all to where they were. Estonia, Belarus, and America had looked close to snapping mentally; China looked as if he were about to snap quite literally in half, he was so thin.

Latvia and Italy had seemed to be all right, but Austria thought that Italy had not been there long, and he also believed that the small Italian was denying everything that might possibly disrupt his carefree mental state.

_"He's always been oblivious to a lot of things that the rest of us adults picked up on. In the end, he's the kind of person who can find the good in everything, and twist his reality to save his sanity. I wonder if he still thinks Holy Rome will come back for him. I hope not. I think not. I think with Holy Rome at least, he knew what was going to happen. Perhaps after that he intentionally built illusions around himself, to shield his mind from further loss. He…he will eventually be coaxed out of his illusion, or broken out of it. He might have been able to cope with the death of one child in reality, but even swallowed up in illusion, he will not be able to handle this. He will have to realize, eventually, that this is real. Particularly if his brother is harmed...if his brother is even alive to be harmed. I assume Italy Romano is alive, probably with Spain, but…who can say?"_

He sat in the corner of his cell, and wondered what Panem would do to him if he tried to sing. He somehow doubted she would harm him for singing, expressly, but he was also afraid that she would take his voice, and so he did not dare to sing audibly.

Austria started humming under his breath, and wished that he had Italy Veneziano's powers of denial. Even music could not take his mind from this prison, from the threat of horrible torture, and that frightened him. Music had always helped him in the past, but it did not seem to do so now.

_"I wonder if it is because we are near the end that music cannot distract me fully, nor give me hope. I suppose it _is_ so. There is no point in distracting myself from a fate which is, no doubt, almost inevitable. But to dwell on that fate is to go insane…and I would not like to go insane. I have seen insanity, and I have lived under those who suffered it, and I do not wish to follow in their footsteps, nor do I wish to be imprisoned by one whose mind has been shattered. But that at least cannot be helped now."_

He sighed, and then began humming a new song, a more mournful tune that he allowed to fill his mind.

_"Now is a time for funeral dirges and the music of tragedies. We are in the hands of a demon, and some part of each of us nations knows that this is a sorrow that, perhaps, cannot be overcome."_

* * *

America never wanted to see his sister again. He had known she would come, though, knew she would appear to torment him, to remind him of all that he had done to her, all that had led them to where they were now. He did not want to see her. He wanted to keep pretending that this was all a dream.

But then she appeared, an eager, cruel smile on her face, and he tried not to notice her. There were two guards with her; one of them had red hair and America remembered him from days past. The other was a woman, and he had probably seen her before, but he really only ever remembered the red-haired soldier, who was very young and also very cruel.

"What now?" he whispered tiredly, and Panem laughed.

"So you've already guessed that I want something from you?"

"You always want something," he said, wishing that he had never laid eyes on this girl. "An apology, at first. Now you just want me to atone for my sins. What do you want from me this time?"

"It's really very simple, Alfred," she said. "I want to know where France and Canada are."

She knelt in front of him, smiling persuasively, and he wondered how it was that she had grown from an innocent little girl into this most cruel monster.

"I know you know," she murmured. "Now, tell me where they are."

"No," America whispered. "I won't. I won't betray anyone else to this fate. I've already brought myself and so many others to this place-why would I do the same to France and Canada, who are still free?"

"Because if you don't, your other friends will never have the chance to get free," Panem said. "You don't want me to kill anyone else, do you?"

"You'll kill France and Canada if I tell you where they are." He did not even have the strength to plead with her. She would get the information out of him somehow, eventually; he knew that. She was cunning and she knew his weaknesses, and she would break him in the end, but there was a dulled hope in his mind, and his protective instincts, though dulled by betrayal and agony, would not allow him to betray his family so easily.

_"I still want to be the hero."_

"Of course, Alfie," Panem said. "But if you do not tell me where they are, I will take someone very dear to you and break her physically, just as I have mentally. You don't want that for her, do you?"

_"Natalya… Please not Natalya, anyone but Natalya, just let us all go… I'm so tired of being threatened…of choosing between people… Maybe it would be better if I just told her where France and Canada are. Then…then they might die quicker, too. That would be good, wouldn't it? It would be good if we were all just killed, now, so we could be released…"_

For a time, he considered refusing to tell, considered letting Belarus be killed. But he knew Panem, and he knew by now that if he did not yield the information before she killed Belarus, then she would kill another nation, and another, and another, until the body count had become so high that the lives of France and Canada were no longer worth the price they had come at.

"If I tell you," he whispered, staring up at her, "will you kill them quickly?"

"Perhaps," she said. "But the longer you delay, the more agony you guarantee them. You don't want them to suffer, do you, Alfred? Don't you just want everyone to be free of this? Don't you wish that all the other nations would stop existing, so you wouldn't have to suffer anymore?"

She cupped his chin in her hand, smiling softly, and he wondered how someone could so easily be both honest and cruel.

"Remember, Alfred," she said, "you will not be allowed to die until every other nation has been killed. By refusing to tell me where France and Canada are, you are simply prolonging your own agony."

"It's not me I care about," he whispered brokenly. "It's the others, you know that. I could be here forever, in pain, and still I'd deserve it. But…but when you hurt the others…"

"When I hurt the others, it hurts you more than any physical suffering could," Panem said. "I know, Alfie. You care very much about everyone…except for me. You have never cared for me, and for that you must surely suffer."

She turned to the red-haired soldier boy and his comrade, who were waiting near the door.

"Go get the girl. Alfred here's not going to talk easily, so grab a sledgehammer or something on your way."

The guards turned away, and, for an instant, the dullness in America's mind was replaced by sheer terror. He remembered seeing Belarus whipped before, remembered the agony on her face as Panem had toyed with her, telling her that Lithuania's depression and death was her fault. And he remembered most vividly how she had broken down in the conference room, convinced that England was actually Lithuania, whom she had killed in the past, and, she had believed then, was being forced to kill again.

"No," he said. "Not Natalya. Please, she's been through enough."

"I'll be the judge of that," Panem said.

_"I can't let them hurt her again she's already in so much pain I can't I can't I'm so sorry…"_

"Please," he whispered. "Please don't hurt her… Don't hurt anyone else… Kill me! Please kill me!"

He stared wide-eyed at Panem, and she raised her hand, halting the guards.

"That's an interesting request," she said. "What makes you think that I'll kill you?"

"You won't," he whimpered. "You never do anything that will work in my favor. But…please don't make me betray them! Don't make me choose between my friends anymore! It hurts, I don't want to choose, don't make me…"

"I'm not making you do anything," Panem said. "You already know which choice will keep more people alive for a longer amount of time. Now…will you make the choice that kills Belarus, or the choice that saves all of your friends' lives?"

_"I'm only saving them for you to kill later. Please kill me… I can't do anything to help my friends this way. Either way, there are horrible consequences, and I don't want to cope with them anymore. Please kill me."_

"Alfie," Panem murmured. "Time's up. Choose."

_"No…no… Don't make me… I don't want to tell don't make me tell… I can't let her kill Natalya… I'm sorry… At least there's a chance of us all being able to get away again, someday. And who knows…maybe France and Canada already left? Yeah, I'm sure they left…there's no harm in telling, if they're gone."_

"There's a cabin in the woods…I don't know where exactly, but it's near the city," he said dully. "That's where they were when I was captured. Please…please promise you'll kill them quickly when the time comes… _Perri._ Please."

"I make no such promise," Panem said. "But thank you, Alfred. You made the right choice. No one will die today."

She started to turn away, and then looked back at him, a deadly gleam in her eyes.

"But, Alfred, if I find that you have lied to me, I will kill your dear Belarus so slowly that you will be on your knees, begging me to give you a gun so you can end her torment with your own hands."

Then she swept from the room, and her soldiers followed, the red-haired boy kicking America scornfully as he passed. The blond boy gasped, but the physical pain seemed far away, and he barely felt it.

When the cell door clanged shut, he curled up on his side, shaking, his arms over his head.

_"No one's going to die…today. What about next week? What will she do to France and Canada? I didn't lie to her, at least, so that won't make things any worse…and she's right, I would have betrayed them sooner or later, but…but…I just want everyone to be safe. There wasn't a right choice to make… She's going to kill all of us. She's going to kill all of us eventually, and now she'll have Canada and France to hurt, too. That was the most selfish choice I could have made."_

He started to cry, wishing more than anything that England was back with him, able to offer him comfort through this nightmare.

_"I just did that so I wouldn't have to see Belarus tortured in front of me. But I condemned France and Canada in saving her, and I didn't even_ save_ her… Panem's going to kill her eventually, anyways. I…I did it to save myself. To shorten my own suffering. Because I can't die until everyone else is dead. Panem won't let me end this; I'll have to die last. I'm just a coward who wants to stop watching others suffer, who wants to end his own pain as quickly as possible. I'm a coward."_

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears, but it was all in vain. Tears kept leaking through his eyelids, smudging his glasses, and America curled up even more tightly, trying to stop crying.

_"I'm not the hero…I've never been the hero. I'm a terrible coward, and…I want my brother back…"_

* * *

"Make her kill me next."

Latvia nearly dropped the water glass.

"No," he said. "We've been through this. I'm not asking her to kill you. All that will do is make you suffer longer, Eirikur…I wouldn't do that to you."

Iceland's head fell forward, his silver bangs hanging over his eyes, shadowing his thin face.

"But it hurts," he said. "Can't you just…just place a hint…?"

"It won't do any good," Latvia said, calm as always.

_"How does he stay so calm? We're all dying, he knows that, and yet he doesn't let any of this upset him. How does he stay so calm about death? Isn't he afraid, too? And…he has to know the pain of death…how can he refuse to kill me, or at least to help? I want to die…"_

"But I'm dying, Raivis," he said. His legs hurt-they were covered in sores from kneeling in the same position for days, unable to move despite the filth that had accumulated around him. "This isn't even surviving…this is… How can you stand to come in here?"

"I've seen worse," Latvia said. "Mr. Russia used to beat Lithuania and Estonia to death sometimes-it was pretty bad, so I'm okay to come in here. And you…you can be okay too, Eirikur. There's still the possibility that we could escape from here, after all."

"I don't think so," Iceland said. "And anyways, what's the point?"

"What do you mean?" Latvia asked, staring at him. "Don't you want to live?"

Iceland considered the question, and, for a moment, he was no longer in his cell, but far away in the past, with his family.

"I don't want to die," he said, "but at the same time, I almost…do. I want to get away from all of this torment and pain…and I want to get away from…from knowing that…that my family…"

_"Lukas Mathias Berwald Tino all gone all gone all gone… I don't know about Peter or Siegfried, they weren't at the meeting but they're probably gone too…"_

"They're dead," he said. "And I'm never going to be able to apologize for the way I treated them. I…I deserve to have died, not them."

"I don't really think so," Latvia said. The small boy was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Iceland, now, an empty plate and glass sitting next to him. "I think you're just a normal kid. That doesn't make you a selfish person. All kids are a little selfish, and you…well, you've always had a family to protect you. You couldn't have known that they would be taken away. You were just a kid."

He smiled up at Iceland.

"I'm glad you had that kind of childhood. It must have been really nice. A lot of us didn't have those kinds of nice childhoods, but you did. And don't beat yourself up over it. You got lucky. But all our luck has run out now, and there's no use feeling guilty for what you didn't know back then. It doesn't change anything, not with Panem. She doesn't understand-or, at least, she doesn't want to understand-that people can change."

"Have I changed?" Iceland asked. "All I know is that I wish I'd done things differently."

"Then you've changed," Latvia said. "You're older now, more grown up. And that's…that's kind of a sad thing, but it's also good. It's good to grow up, to learn from your mistakes, so you can move forward in this world. It's a sad world, but it's a world where good people can make a difference. You're wiser now, and kinder. You wouldn't have talked to me like this before, so seriously and sympathetically, would you? But now you do. You're a really proud person, Eirikur-I'm glad of it. A little pride would be nice to have, I think. But you've also learned a lot about suffering, and you've become better for it. You're proud, but…not too proud, anymore"

Iceland laughed softly, shaking his head at the small boy.

"All I am now is suicidal."

"No, not really," Latvia said. "You don't actually try to kill yourself. Toris always used to do that-he'd cut his wrists up, trying to die. It was really horrible. But you…you just beg everyone else to kill you, yet, when the time comes, you don't want to die. That's not being suicidal, really-that's thinking that you deserve to be punished for something. But when the time comes, when your punishment arrives, you scream and fight against the pain with all your being, because some part of you knows that no matter how much you think you deserve to be punished, you really don't deserve it at all."

"You don't believe that anyone deserves to be punished, do you?" Iceland asked.

"No," Latvia said. "I think we've all been punished enough already. We've been forced to live this long, undergoing more pain than any normal human would be able to stand, and that in itself is like being in hell. After all that we nations have already been through, I don't think that anyone-even Panem-deserves to be punished anymore."

* * *

Russia hummed softly to himself as he hurried along the city streets, trying to ignore the feeling that something was missing. He had left his scarf with Lithuania, not daring to wear such an identifying article in public, and he felt exposed without it.

_"Katya made it for me, and now she's gone and…that scarf had better not have blood on it when I get back, Toris."_

He instantly berated himself for daring to suggest that Lithuania would get blood on his scarf. True, the boy had done such things before, but he had never bloodied Russia's scarf through self-inflicted injuries.

_"My scarf is pink now because of all the blood, but I made him bleed, I made the others bleed, and so the fact that my scarf has blood on it is not at all Litva's fault."_

He stopped at a street corner, waiting, scanning the area for signs of soldiers. His height and childish features made him stand out even in the largest crowd, and he was afraid, out there alone, that he might be caught by the soldiers and whisked away to Panem's fortress, where torture doubtless awaited him. He was afraid of being taken away alone, and he was also afraid of leaving Lithuania all alone.

But there were no soldiers, and very few people out on the streets, save for a man sitting against the wall of the building on Russia's right. He was fairly small, ragged blond hair falling in his eyes, and Russia watched him curiously for a moment, feeling that he knew the man from somewhere.

_"A nation? Not one of mine, I'd know who he was if he had been one of mine… But he's someone I know…a human or a nation?"_

The stranger looked up, their eyes met, green on violet, and Russia remembered who he was.

_"He is alone? That is why I did not know him. He always had the little girl with him before…but, still, at least I know his name even when the girl is not with him."_

"Switzerland?"


	36. Remorse

Chapter Thirty-Six: Remorse

Switzerland didn't even seem surprised to see him, Russia thought. The blond man stood up slowly, carefully, as if he were trying not to attract attention to himself or anyone around him. Then, almost casually, but with a wary air, he stepped closer to Russia.

"Call me Basch," he hissed. "It's not safe to use our nation names anymore; if there are soldiers listening, they'll find us."

"Are you all alone?" Russia asked, stupidly - he could see that Switzerland was alone, but where was the little girl? Switzerland never went anywhere without the girl.

"Yes, I'm alone," Switzerland said. And then, quietly, "Are you?"

"I'm with Lit- I'm w-with Toris," Russia said. "He's back at the apartment though; I'm supposed to be doing the shopping."

"You got an apartment?" Switzerland said. "How'd you manage it? The landlord ought to have reported you."

Russia chuckled. "I am…um…a bit good at the persuading."

They were quiet for a moment, standing immobile on the street corner, and Russia tried to think of what Lithuania would do in this kind of situation.

"Would you like to come back with me?" he asked. "My home is in an out of the way place; we will not be found there."

Switzerland eyed him warily, and Russia wondered if he should be as suspicious of Switzerland as the other man was of him.

"Um…you do not have to be coming if you do not wish it…"

There was still no reply, and Russia could almost sense Switzerland weighing the risk, trying to judge whether it would be wise or foolish to seek shelter in the company of another nation.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Switzerland said finally. "Lead the way. But if you're tricking me, know that I'll shoot you. I still have a gun."

"I have no doubt of that," Russia said hurriedly. "I am not doing the tricking, so let us go, okay?"

He started off, painfully aware of Switzerland following him, and rather frightened by the thought that the other nation had a gun concealed somewhere on his person.

_"If Toris got hold of a gun…what would happen to him?"_

He wouldn't mind much if Switzerland shot _him_. At this point, it might be a mercy. But for the blond nation to hurt Lithuania, or leave a gun lying around…

"You will keep your gun on your person at all times, yes?" he asked Switzerland.

"I've always done so in the past."

"Good."

_"I should probably explain to him about Lithuania. But…how would I begin? It is hard even to_ think _about all that has happened…let alone to explain it all to someone who was not involved in the things that went on in that house and in the events since then. What should I do…what can I do? Maybe when he sees Lithuania he'll figure it out for himself, but…what if he doesn't? Then what am I supposed to do?"_

He kept thinking about it as they made their way back toward the apartment, wondering how he could even begin to tell Switzerland, an outsider and a near stranger, about all that had befallen them in the Soviet house. He did not think that such a story needed to be told again, and yet, it might be necessary to explain to Switzerland what exactly was wrong with Lithuania, if only so that Switzerland could help him protect the brunet nation.

"Ivan." Switzerland's voice was very low, even more cautious than before. "There are soldiers watching us. I think they're suspicious - their leader has something in his hand, and the rest are discussing whatever it is he has."

Cautiously, Russia glanced in the direction of the soldiers, who were slightly ahead and to the right of them, across the road.

"Do we go the other way?" he asked.

Switzerland shook his head.

"No, they'd be after us for certain if we do that. We keep going. But be ready to fight if necessary."

There were too many soldiers for even Russia to handle alone, and he did not think that even with Switzerland's help, he wanted to go up against ten soldiers.

_"No, it is more than that, and you know it is. You are afraid, afraid of hurting people, because you have hurt so many in the past. They are 'only' soldiers, but Toris and Eduard and Katya and the rest were 'only' my family, but that 'only' was not…they were more than just a commonplace thing, and I hurt them. Soldiers have nothing in common with families, but what if I am wrong about that too?"_

"If we fight, we will be hurt, or we will die," he said aloud. "I promised I would go back for Toris, so I must not be captured or killed. We should run if they go after us."

"Run?" Switzerland snapped, green eyes narrowing to slits. "Running will only ensure you leave behind what is important to you. Don't be foolish."

"What is important to me is not here," Russia said. They were almost past the soldiers, but the soldiers were also watching them now, and their leader seemed impatient, snapping things at his men.

"He'll be safer if you don't come back," Switzerland said.

"No, you don't understand, I…"

_"I made a promise. I said I would come back, so I have to. I have to go back for Litva. And he won't be able to get out if I don't come back; he'll hurt himself…"_

The soldiers were starting across the road in little groups, one group still on the other side of the street, one coming at an angle to cut them off, and part of Russia wanted to fight, but another part of him had promised that it would never again wield any tool with the aim of harming another, and still another part had sworn to return alive for Lithuania.

"Basch," he said, "what do we do?"

"Is Toris in a situation where he will be seriously injured if you do not come back?" Switzerland asked, eyeing the soldiers, hand reaching inside of his coat as if searching for something.

"He will blame himself and likely die," Russia said. "He wants to kill himself."

"In that case, you'd best run for it," Switzerland murmured. The soldiers were _so close_; their escape route was almost completely blocked. "I'll cover you. You'll have to go for him at night, though, once you've lost the soldiers; it'll be too dangerous otherwise."

Russia almost bolted away immediately, but, suddenly, he realized what it was that Switzerland had said.

"You will _not_ stay behind," he said.

"You don't own me," Switzerland said. "I won't take orders from you."

"I do not own anyone anymore," said Russia, very quietly. "But I do not allow my friends - or even those who are not my friends yet, but only allies - to die needlessly. Take out the two soldiers in front of us, and run. You have a gun, da?"

"Yes," Switzerland whispered, and in an instant the metal of that gun was flashing in the sunlight as he pulled it out.

Switzerland took out two soldiers before the others charged in, but Russia hurtled forward and, with bare fists and booted feet - he had not carried a weapon willingly since the termination of the Soviet Union - he knocked one soldier to the pavement. Switzerland had cleared an opening by then, and the small blond stood still with his gun leveled at the advancing soldiers.

"They will catch us," Russia warned. "Run!"

Switzerland did not move.

"I will not leave unless you do," Russia said, and he would have sat down on the sidewalk to prove his point, except that Switzerland turned like lightning and darted off, leaving Russia to run after him, trying to keep up. He was bigger than Switzerland, stronger, but small people were fast, and Switzerland was no exception.

"Get in front of me," Switzerland ordered as they ran. "They're coming behind us, and I can take a few out while…"

"No," Russia said. "That will waste time - they will call reinforcements if we delay. Just run now."

And Switzerland did, and Russia came thundering after him (every soldier in Panem must have heard him, he was certain), until they had run so fast and so far that even the once-immortal, once-mighty Russia thought that he might collapse and die midstride.

They were no longer in the well-kept areas of the city, but on the outskirts, in a place that was more ruin than city, and it was here, where no sound except the pounding of their own feet could be heard, that Russia determined that they had lost the soldiers.

Switzerland seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for he suddenly ducked inside of a tall but ruinous building, disappearing into the dark so quickly that Russia was left blinking in shock, trying to discern what had happened to the small man.

Then he realized it; then he ducked into the building, and found Switzerland standing inside, waiting for him.

"Come on," Switzerland said. "Further in, before we're home."

And this _was_ Switzerland's home, it seemed, for as Russia followed the other former nation, they came to their destination in an inner room where Switzerland seemed to have stashed all the food and other useful articles that he could find. There was a hole in the ceiling, but there were blankets heaped against the wall, and Russia thought Switzerland probably thought of the hole in the roof as a possible escape route.

"This is your home?" Russia murmured, feeling almost guilty remembering the modest but comfortable apartment that he and Lithuania had been living in.

"They'll never find me here," Switzerland said. "No one comes out here anymore. Everyone has moved further in. And…and the explosion was only a few blocks from here. That's why so many moved away."

That put things in perspective. And it was sad, Russia thought, looking at the desolate, ruined building, that it was not only nations who had been affected by what Panem had done, that humans, too, had been hurt by the explosion meant to end all nations forever.

"When can I go back for Toris?" he asked, very quietly, because he could think of nothing else to say.

"Tomorrow night," Switzerland said. "If you go before then, you will be found and killed, and that will not help him. There will be soldiers swarming the city tonight, looking for us, now they know we are here."

"I am sorry," Russia said. "If I had not spoken to you, the soldiers…"

Switzerland laughed, a short, barking sound.

"Don't be sorry. I was hoping they would find me, catch me, kill me. They didn't because you were there. So, count that as you saving my life, not as you almost getting me killed."

"Y-you…"

_"No more suicidal ones, please, I cannot handle multiple people trying to die all at once. Too many have already tried to leave, been forced to leave, left on purpose, no more. No more."_

"It's not like _that_," Switzerland said gruffly. "I was hoping _they _would kill me, but my self-preservation instinct is too strong for me to actively… Never mind. Let's not discuss it."

"But a-are you okay?"

Switzerland had been standing with his back to Russia, looking out through the hole in the ceiling, but he turned then and stared at Russia, and it seemed to the tall man that Switzerland's eyes saw more of his heart with a single glance than his own eyes had seen of Switzerland's heart in a lifetime.

"You care a lot about Lithuania, and have decided to get attached to me within the last five minutes, because you think I am like him," Switzerland said. "Isn't that it?"

Russia said nothing.

_"I don't want anyone to die."_

"That's stupid," Switzerland informed him. "I'm not going to kill myself."

"B-but you wanted the soldiers to kill you?"

"Self-preservation instincts only go so far," Switzerland said, and then he left the room, saying that he was going to look for food.

Russia was left alone in the empty room, and the moment Switzerland had gone, he began trying to think out why someone like Switzerland, who seemed so stable and had nothing on his conscience, would possibly wish to die. He did not seem like Lithuania, so tired that he could not even move any longer, but then, he also did not seem as alive, as confident, as Russia had remembered him.

_"And the little girl is not with him. Toris blames himself for not saving Estonia and Latvia. Could it be that it is the same for Switzerland, but it is little Liechtenstein that he did not save? Or does he truly have something on his conscience, something worse than failure? I do not think that is it. I think he is too stable - he is paranoid, but he is not unstable - to have done something like what I have done. But he loved Liechtenstein, and to have failed her…to have her not here with him…could that possibly be the reason for his sadness?"_

He wondered if Switzerland was sad, or just tired and self-hating. He wondered if this, this thing that made you want die had sadness in it for the others. Lithuania seemed sad, but Switzerland just seemed tired, and Lithuania had grown to seem less sad and more exhausted the longer this had gone on. And he, Russia, was also tired, but he was more sad and discouraged and wishing he could change things than he was tired of this world.

"They do not believe they can set it right…?" he whispered. "Litva certainly does not think he can fix anything anymore. Maybe it is the hopelessness that makes them seem so tired."

And now he was tired, not just in spirit but in body, and so he tried to put his thoughts to rest, so that he could sleep for a few hours.

He could not sleep. He was worried about Lithuania.

* * *

Under ordinary circumstances, Estonia would not have gone near a prison cell containing a hysterical human being no matter how much he was paid. However, the person throwing a hysterical tantrum happened to be someone who would probably calm down fairly quickly if he just had someone to talk to.

And he had to deliver America's food and water anyways, or he would be in deep trouble with Panem for allowing her brother to starve to death.

He entered the cell cautiously, ready to be attacked, but instead of being assaulted, he found America sitting in the corner of his cell, bawling.

"Alfred?"

The blond boy looked up at him, wide-eyed, his face tear-stained, glasses blurred by tears, and Estonia knew that America was not going to pose a danger to him.

"What happened?" he asked, crouching in front of the American. "What's wrong?"

"I t-told her where France and Canada are," America sobbed. "And she's gonna hurt them, too, when she finds them, and…if I had just s-stayed quiet, they'd be okay, b-but…"

"Did she threaten you?" Estonia asked. "Did she threaten to hurt the rest of us? Because Toris would have done the same in your place, you know, if Panem had threatened to hurt the other prisoners, or kill them."

"She said she'd kill Natalya," America whimpered. "But she t-told me she wouldn't kill France and Canada or anyone else right now if I j-just told her where they were…"

"Then you weren't wrong. You had no choice. Making you choose between two bad things, like she's been doing this whole time, doesn't offer you any kind of choice. It just makes you take the path that seems best at the time. Neither choice would have been right…but neither was wrong, because there was no better option."

"But it _was_ wrong!" America looked almost mad when he was hysterical, he had such a desperate, sad, wild look in his eyes. "It had to be wrong, because France and Canada were free! She's gonna kill us all, Ed, eventually… I…I…if I hadn't told her, then France and Canada could have escaped. But I told her, so…they're gonna die, too!"

America buried his head in his hands, sobbing, and Estonia sighed.

"She would have hunted them down eventually, anyways," he said. "All you would have done by refusing to tell her was prolong the time you would have to live and suffer. She said she wouldn't kill you until the rest of us are dead, didn't she? You've cut short your suffering, and France's and Canada's too. They'll be tortured, yes, but in the end…won't their pain end more quickly? Wouldn't that be better than years of suffering for you, and for them?"

_"Maybe it is best that all of us just give in and accept our fate. We're going to die sometime; why not now? Why not get it over with? We've lived too long already; hundreds of human lifetimes. Isn't it time to stop? Wouldn't it be better to just end our torment?"_

* * *

Belarus would not look at him.

It wasn't that he wanted her to look at him, but she usually glanced up when he opened the door, and today she did not, did not even move from her seat in the corner.

She was facing away from him, but she seemed very stiff, rigid, almost, and Latvia wondered in an instant of irrational panic if she had died sitting up.

"M-Miss Belarus?"

She said nothing. She did not move. His hands started to shake; he put down her food before it could slip through his fingers, and went over to her.

"Miss Belarus?"

She was staring blankly at the wall, dark eyes wide, and although he knew that she was not dead-he could see her breathing-he still thought that she might be somewhere beyond his reach, and that terrified him.

She had been crying yesterday, had been crying, it seemed, for many days, and she was still crying now, but unlike in previous days, she did not try to hide it from him. He was not even sure she knew he was there.

"Did something bad happen, Miss Belarus?" he asked.

Her face was like stone, she never blinked, but a tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her cheek, and he wiped it away.

"Don't cry. It's okay. You're not hurt, are you?"

She didn't look hurt, but she was also acting very different from yesterday.

_"Did Panem hurt her and just not tell me? She doesn't tell me much, but she also doesn't hurt Miss Belarus much, and when she does you can usually tell..."_

"What happened? Miss Belarus? Maybe I can help…"

He'd never seen someone this unresponsive before, not Estonia, not Lithuania, not anyone, unless they were dead. And Belarus was not dead, yet she did not speak or move.

"Do you want some food?" he asked shakily. "I brought you food."

He went and picked up the food and brought it back to her, and he managed not to drop it, although he was shaking terribly. And still Belarus did not look at him.

"Here," he said, holding the water glass to her lips, as if she were in chains and could not feed herself. (It almost seemed as if she was chained with invisible chains that not only took away the power of movement, but of speech as well.)

She finally moved, then, but it was only to turn her head away from him, so suddenly that the water glass finally slipped from Latvia's hands, its contents spilling on Belarus.

"I'm sorry!" Latvia squeaked, but she showed no indication that she had noticed his mistake, merely edged further away from him, into the corner of her cell.

"Miss Belarus, please eat. Look, there's food right here… I can feed you, if you want."

She didn't look at him, but she shook her head a very little bit, and he thought he might cry.

"A-are you going to eat it after I leave then?"

Another shake of the head.

"B-but you have to!" And out it came, before he thought about what he was saying. It was the only thing he could have thought of to say to her, anyways.

"Toris would be sad if you didn't eat! A-and Mr. America will be sad too! S-so…you h-have to eat…"

"Toris is dead." He could barely even hear her voice, she was so quiet and hoarse from screaming. (He heard her screaming from his room sometimes, mostly at night, when the entire complex was quiet except for her cries.)

"But he wouldn't be happy… And Mr. A-America isn't dead…how do you think he'd feel?"

"He shouldn't feel anything about it," Belarus said in a muffled voice, pulling America's jacket over her head, shielding herself from Latvia's gaze. "Neither of them should feel anything, even if Toris were alive. I hurt them both… I-I'm the reason they have to suffer, so they shouldn't c-care about me…"

She was sobbing audibly again. Latvia almost hated that more than the silence, but at least this way he knew that Belarus could still be reached, although it was difficult to get through to her.

"How did you make Mr. America suffer?" he asked, very quietly. And she sobbed harder, and he didn't _know_ what had happened, but he knew who knew, and he knew that Panem would tell him the truth if he asked her. So he went first to Belarus and knelt beside her, pretending that he was Lithuania, as if that might help calm her, as if that might give him strength.

"I don't think it's your fault that anyone's suffering," he said. "So you shouldn't think it either, okay? It's not your fault."

"You sound like Toris!" Belarus wailed, throwing back her head so that America's jacket slipped off her head and fell to the floor. "Stop!"

And he had messed up again, as he had been messing things up all along, so he stood up and turned away.

"I'm really sorry. I guess being like Toris isn't a good thing."

_"But don't we all want to be like Toris, even Miss Belarus? I think…I think she wishes she were strong like Toris too. I wish I was strong like Toris. But all I have is words, so words…will have to do, but not for Miss Belarus. Words are only a cruel reminder to her."_

He slipped out into the hallway, and then, not quite knowing if it would work, yelled at the empty corridor.

"Panem! I need to talk to you!"

He waited in the hallway, and she _did_ answer his summons, although she had never done anything else for him. She came striding along with all the confidence that he had always wished he possessed, and it struck him then that she was, in a way, very extraordinary for having learned such confidence with no one to teach her.

"What did you do to Miss Belarus?" he asked.

Panem pouted childishly, ruffling his hair.

"You never want to talk to me unless it's about someone else," she grumbled. "Don't you love me, Raivis?"

"No," he said. "I told you that already. What did you do to Miss Belarus?"

Panem sighed theatrically, shaking her head. Then, she grinned.

"I only told her that America betrayed his family so she wouldn't be killed. That's all. You'd think she'd be calmer about it, wouldn't you?"

"Y-you… America what…?"

"America has divulged the location of France and Canada," Panem said. "As a matter of fact, I'm off to collect them now. So, that's all that's wrong with Belarus. Don't worry so much. It's bad for your health."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't worry so much if you would stop hurting my friends," Latvia said pointedly.

"Well, maybe hurting your friends relieves _my_ worry," Panem said. "Now, I must be going. Goodbye."

She ruffled his hair again, and then she turned away, aiming a kick at Estonia, who had unfortunately chosen that moment to exit China's cell.

"What was she doing?" the Estonian asked, when Panem had gone.

"Causing trouble," Latvia sighed. "Like always."

_"I liked her better when she wasn't causing trouble for innocent people. But I guess…maybe we aren't innocent, and that's why she's here, hurting us. Maybe she's the personification, not just of Panem, but of literal judgment upon us. Huh. I never thought of that before."_

"America broke," Estonia said. "He…"

"I know," Latvia said. "He betrayed France and Canada. Panem told me. What do we do?"

"I don't know. I thought you might have some ideas."

"We can't warn them," Latvia said. "We're trapped in here. So…I guess we can…I don't know? Clean the spare prison cell?"

He giggled quietly.

"That was supposed to be a joke, Eddy."

Estonia was watching him closely, and it made him nervous. Estonia had already seen far too much of his weakness, and it needed to stop. Estonia did not need to worry about him anymore than he already had.

"You can stop smiling, Raivis. I know you're pretending."

_"But I don't know how to stop pretending. I'm supposed to be brave now, like Toris, and Toris always smiled. So I'm going to smile too. But maybe jokes are too obviously fake, since I've never joked around before. Just smiles, then. Smiling is easy enough. If I can laugh and smile for a psychopath's pleasure, I should definitely be able to do it for my friends' happiness."_


	37. Family

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Family

Canada had taken to wandering further and far more frequently in recent days, as France grew less and less responsive. The less responsive Franc e was, the less likely it was that the man would slip from the house while he was away. At least, he hoped that was the case. He only knew that he couldn't stay in the house every moment with France, who would either lie there, saying nothing, or shout at him.

And sometimes France just cried, and that was worst of all. So Canada did not stay in the house, but fled to the forests, staying just out of sight of the road that would lead him home.

And so, on this day, he was close enough to the road to hear the soldiers. He did not realize that they _were_ soldiers at first, but then, creeping through the grass toward the sounds of people talking, he saw men in Panem's army uniforms standing in a group around some vehicles - army vehicles - and a girl in their midst. He would have recognized her anywhere, and it was when he saw her that he knew what the soldiers had come for.

_"They're here for us. For me and…and Francis!"_

He turned, running off through the trees, hoping that Panem and her soldiers would take a long time in planning their attack. He did not know if he could beat them to the house on foot, when they were in trucks, but when he reached the back door of the cabin in the woods, there was no one in sight.

He entered the house quickly, shouting for France, and the older man was still alive enough to hear urgency in his child's voice, for Canada found him on his feet, starting toward the doorway from which Canada had entered.

"It's the soldiers," Canada said breathlessly, before France could ask. "They're coming. Panem's with them, too. We need to get out of here, Francis!"

France stared at him for a long moment, and then, there was a faint spark of something in his eyes, and he smiled. It was a smile that Canada could not understand - he did not want to understand - but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Francis…?"

"You should run, Mathieu," France said. "But I am staying here."

_"Of course. You knew he would say that, you _knew_… I can't leave him here. I have to take care of him."_

"You can't stay here," Canada said. "You'll die. The soldiers will kill you, or…or take you away like they took Arthur and Alfred, you don't want to be tortured, do you…?"

"Did I say I was going to let them catch me?" France asked. "Listen, Mathieu. They are coming up the road now - I can hear them. Soon they will surround this house, and I…I am not strong enough anymore to run away. But I can - I will - set a trap for them. I may not be able to take them all out at once, but I will try, and if I succeed, I will find you in the city. But whether or not I join you, do not come back to this house. If you do, Panem will find you and she will have you killed."

"I'm not leaving," Canada said. "I'm n-not…going. You can't make me."

"I think I can," France informed him. "Mathieu, look at this."

He couldn't breathe anymore. He might not ever be able to breathe again. France was holding a gun.

"W-where did you…? Put it down, Francis."

"No," said France. "I will not. Out the back door you go, Mathieu, or I will shoot myself."

And if he had said he was going to shoot Canada, Canada would have stayed, but France really was smart enough to know what it was that would get him out the door, and France was lifting the gun to his head, and Canada had no doubt that the older man would pull the trigger if provoked.

He wasn't sure why France hadn't already killed himself, if he had had the gun with him all along.

"I… Francis, please, we can…"

"Out, Mathieu!"

He hadn't heard France's voice so strong since before the world had collapsed; he wasn't sure he liked hearing France strong again.

_"Not now. If it had been before, I would have been so glad, but now…"_

"You'll meet me in the city?" he whispered. "How will you find me?"

"I will find you," France said simply. "Now go, or I will shoot."

"Papa…"

"Go! Are you stupid? I told you to go!"

"But I don't want to! I said I would take care of you, I'm going to take care of you, I'm not going to leave, Papa, _please,_ put the gun down!"

"No," France said. "I am sorry, but I cannot do it. I am also sorry to threaten you like this, but the fact of the matter is, I do not want you to die. It would make me sad if you died, too, after Arthur and Alfred…"

"And how will I feel if _you_ die? How will I feel, Papa?"

A trace of doubt flickered across France's face, but then, he pressed the gun closer against his head, and although his hands were shaking, he still held the gun firmly in place.

"Please go, Mathieu. If I…if I can, I will find you in the city."

"You're lying," Canada said. "You're not going to come."

"Perhaps not," France said. "But if you do not go now, then I shall certainly never come."

He was going to cry; there was nothing else he could do, not with the soldiers coming and France refusing to go, and all he had wanted to do was protect his family, what was so hard about that?

"Do you even love me, Francis?" he asked, and France very nearly dropped the gun.

"W-what?"

"Do you love me? Because you're not doing a very good job of showing it, if you do."

It was cruel of him to say, he knew that, but it was the only thing he could think of that might possibly make France put the gun down.

France looked as if he were about to cry, to drop the gun, to agree to try and run away, but then he laughed and Canada _knew_, even before France spoke, that the other man would not come with him now.

"You know I love you," France said. "But you also know that I am very bad at taking care of you, despite loving you. So you should go and find someone else who can love you and take care of you. You are still a child, Mathieu. I am sorry for forgetting that. But now I have remembered, although I will soon forget again if I stay with you. So, I want you to go and find somewhere you can be a child."

"In a world where nations are being hunted and tortured and murdered? How can I be a child in that world, Francis?"

"I do not say that you will be safe or innocent," France said. "Although you should be both safe and innocent, that is not the lot of nations. You should not, however, have to take care of me. So go away and stop trying to be my parent. You are not a parent, Mathieu. I am your father - although, I admit, I have done a very bad job of parenting you. So, as your father, I am telling you to go look for safety and happiness, however distant it may seem."

_"But I've been the adult here for how long now and I was doing as good of a job as I could. I have to take care of you, or else you'll die, and the soldiers are coming… I don't want you to die, Francis."_

He could have said it, could have protested, but he had been protesting for so long and it had done no good. France was not going to leave with him, and, if France really was planning to set a trap for the soldiers - although Canada doubted this was really the case - he was preventing the older man from setting his trap.

"Mathieu? Mathieu, don't cry…"

And for a moment he was a child again and France was his father, holding him in a protective embrace, and for just a moment, Canada felt safe. But then he remembered the soldiers were coming, and France released his hold and pushed him, not unkindly, toward the door.

And he stood on the doorstep, ready to flee into the woods, and France, behind him, was turning back into the house, and then Canada spoke.

"Papa."

France turned back, and Canada had never seen more worry or pain anywhere than what he beheld now on the face of his father.

"Try not to die."

France nodded, and then the door was closed, and Canada, who was not really very brave or strong, who felt powerless to save anyone, and only wished that he was not running away alone, ran.

* * *

France almost expected Canada to come back, to pound on the door and demand to be let in. But, of course, the boy did not, because things France expected to happen never did.

In this case, it was a mercy that he had been wrong. He did not want to have to see Canada die. He had already seen his child driven to tears over his own stupidity and he would not allow any more harm to come to him.

He only hoped Canada could reach the city alive and find one of the other nations, someone who could protect him. The part of him that was utterly depressed told him that, of course, Canada would not find anyone else, for all the others were probably dead.

But there was a part of France, however small, that always tried to make the best out of the darkest things, and that part said that Canada would find another nation, and that that nation, whoever he might be, would surely keep Canada safe from harm. And France held onto the belief that the dreamer in him entertained, even as he raised the gun once more, with shaking fingers, to his head.

"I will not be taken alive," he said. "That would be very cruel to Mathieu, were he to be captured and find that I had suffered because he left me behind. And it would be cruel to Alfred, and to Arthur too, if they are still alive, for me to be brought to that prison."

He laughed morbidly, softly, and he heard the crunch of tires coming up the gravel road.

"And it would be cruel to me, as a person, were I to willingly prolong such a pointless suffering. All nations save one must die in this time when that one nation has finally achieved the goal of all nations, when one nation has dominated the world. All nations except for her must die, and even she may meet a violent death, may she not? Time will tell. But I do not like to wait for slight hopes and distant dreams, not anymore. Now, at the end of the world, when I have the ability to choose between life and death, I would rather live in this single moment…or die in it."

He had seen many people die in his long lifetime, had seen heads roll severed from their owners' bodies, and had also seen other heads blown near to bits by gunshots. He had seen this; the memory of those deaths was still in his mind, and he knew exactly where to aim.

He did not miss.

* * *

Canada heard the gunshot from far away, beyond the soldiers' perimeter but still within hearing range, and he did not know what had happened, but he only heard one gunshot, and he stopped dead in the middle of the woods and turned to stare back in the direction of the cabin, waiting. But there was no second gunshot, and he thought that France would have had more bullets than that, that if he had gotten the first shot, he would have kept shooting.

So Panem, he thought, had gotten the first shot, or else France had killed himself after Canada had left him alone. However France had died, it did not change Canada's mistake. He had run away like a frightened child, and he had let the closest thing he had to a parent die. But the reality of it did not quite hit him, and what little of the pain of losing his father he did understand, at that moment, merely beat the memory of France's apologies and pleas into his mind, and he went on, through the woods, not really caring whether or not the soldiers could follow his trail, but only knowing that he would fight them when they came, because France had told him to live, and he would listen to France, although _he_ had fought and tried to be an adult so that France could live, and France had ignored his struggles, so it was not really fair of France to ask anything of him. But France was dead, or worse, wounded and imprisoned, and it felt like his last request, this plea that Canada would go on and live. So he trudged on, carrying the weight of the request, not yet realizing fully that that request _was_ the last thing he would ever remember his father saying to him.

He stopped in the woods and lay down to sleep, expecting the soldiers to find and kill him as he slept. But he woke to darkness and quiet in the woodlands, and he walked on all through the night and into the dawn, alone.

And when he came out of the trees and saw the city in the distance, then he knew that he had nearly reached the place France had told him to go. And his tired steps quickened just a little, for he was a faithful child, who would always obey his father when he could.

He would honor the last request of the only father he had ever known, and try to find safety if he could. But he could never be a child again.

* * *

Panem came in at what America thought must be sunset, dragging Belarus by the hair, and America thought that his heart was going to stop, he was so afraid of what she might do.

"Don't, don't, I was telling the truth," he whispered as Panem let go of Belarus' hair and sent her tumbling to the ground. "I promise I was telling the truth…"

"Oh, you were telling the truth, all right," Panem said. "You didn't tell me, though, that France was smart enough to kill himself rather than be captured. It's a pity really. I had plans for him, and for Canada too."

"Francis is dead?"

Death and dying barely even surprised him at this point, but he had expected France to be brought back a prisoner, along with Canada. But it seemed that neither of them were here, and France was dead, and that was something he had not expected.

"He shot himself in the head," Panem said. "Just before we arrived, in fact. He must have realized we were coming and gotten scared."

"France doesn't get scared like that." He sounded like a kid, like a tiny, stupid kid, denying the facts, denying everything that he knew must be true. Panem did not lie about matters of murder and death. If she said France had killed himself, he had.

"France isn't…"

"I don't care what France was or wasn't," Panem said. "I'm interested in knowing where Canada might have gone, though. You don't know, do you, Alfred?"

"No, I don't. You know I don't, Perri."

_"Francis wasn't the kind of person who'd kill himself. He wasn't sad like Lithuania was, or if he was he… Would he have been able to hide being sad was that why he was so weird? Did he do it on purpose so he'd seem happy even though he wasn't? I'm so confused confused confused... Francis is dead? Arthur is also dead? Where is Matthew where's my baby brother I don't know where he is where is he?"_

"I know," Panem said. "Nonetheless, my mission was a total failure, and that makes me pretty angry, you know. I was planning to have you watch France and Canada be tortured, but that won't be possible now. So, instead, why don't you talk to Belarus here? I think she has something to say to you."

"Y-you're not going to hurt her?" America asked, staring at Panem.

"This time, I don't have to," Panem said with a laugh. "You two have ten minutes." She swept from the cell, leaving America and Belarus alone.

America glanced at Belarus, saw her sitting still and rigid on the floor next to him and thought that that was wrong, that Belarus of all people should not be so stiff and unmoving. Her knees were tucked up close to her chest; her head was bent and he could not see her face, and he thought that every time he saw her, she looked less like Belarus and more like an abused little girl.

"Nat, you okay?"

She whimpered and shook her head, seeming to grow smaller as she hugged her knees closer to her chest.

"Hey, it's okay. What's the matter? Maybe I can fix it."

_"Shut up, stupid, you know you can't save anyone. You're no hero. Why would you even try anymore?"_

She shuddered, tremors rocking her body, and a strangled sob escaped as she raised her head to look at him. She was crying, she shouldn't be crying, and he took hold of her as gently as he could, and for a moment he wondered if she had mistaken him for Lithuania, because she collapsed into his arms, whispering apologies.

"Nat? It's Alfred, you know that, right?"

She nodded, her face turned away so he could not see her expression.

"Then why are you apologizing to me?"

_"What do you think you could have done wrong now? What did Panem…? No, Panem said she didn't hurt her, but…what happened, then?"_

"You're stupid," Belarus informed him, and it was something the old Belarus would say, except the old Belarus would not have let herself cry like this. "You're s-stupid but it's my fault for being weak and making you p-pity me…"

"Ssh, Nat, ssh… Nothing's your fault, okay?"

He was incredibly confused, uncertain of how his pity for her could possibly be something that would result in her tears. He did pity her, true, but he would have pitied her whether or not she had been broken like this, and she had to realize that.

"If I hadn't been weak and a woman, you wouldn't have gotten attached, a-and you wouldn't have betrayed your f-family to Panem."

She managed to keep her voice almost perfectly steady for the few seconds it took to utter those words, and it was as if she was trying to prove her own weakness wrong by keeping her voice steady. But after she delivered her message, her voice broke, and she was sobbing once again.

"It's not your fault," America said. "And it has nothing to do with you being a girl, okay?"

_"Actually it does and I want to protect you, not just because of that but because you need it and because that is what Lithuania would do, but I can only protect you for so long, and I'm not ready for you to die right now. You and Estonia are basically the only ones I have left, with Arthur gone…"_

"It's just, well, you know I like being a hero, Nat. And you also know…y-you know that this is starting to hurt, being locked up like this, watching people suffer. It's getting to me, I think. I…I sold the others out because no one would die today if I did. At least, that's what I thought. But France _did_ die, and I should've known that was a possibility. S-so… I think I did it because, really…because I want to end my suffering faster. Panem's not going to kill me until everyone else dies, and thinking about everybody else having to keep hurting and hurting, and me having to watch…"

"You are crying," Belarus told him.

And he was, but he hadn't really noticed it, he was so used to crying at everything like the emotional teenager his physical form resembled.

"Yeah. Cause it hurts."

"Do you want to die?"

"No."

_"Yes yes, please let me die. I'm very tired of living, and this isn't really living anyways, this is just suffering, and I really, really hate it. It'd be better to die than to live like this. If I was dead…maybe she wouldn't have a reason to hurt the others, then."_

"I want to die," Belarus informed him. "I don't…trust myself. I might hurt someone else."

"You're not hurting anyone, Nat. It's okay, I promise. I don't blame you for anything, and I'm sure no one else does either. It's gonna be okay. And you're not weak. You're my friend, and you need someone to talk to, and it's okay. I'll talk to you, and I'll protect you if I can." He smiled weakly. "Because that's what friends do."

Belarus was silent for a long time, silver-blonde hair falling into her eyes.

"They play recordings in my cell," she said at last. "Of Toris, screaming. Can you hear it from here?"

"Sometimes," America said. Truthfully, he heard Belarus screaming more than he heard the recordings. Belarus cried louder than any recorded torture could sound.

"I wish it would stop. It hurts. I don't want to hear it anymore."

"I know," America said. "I don't wanna hear it either, Nat. And I don't want to hear you so sad. So, someday, we'll get out of here, right?"

_"When we die. How long until we die?"_

"And when we get out, you'll be all better, okay? I'll fix you."

_"Only in death, but what if when we die there's nothing after? What if I can't fix her?"_

"Are you lying?" Belarus asked bluntly. "You sound as if you are lying."

He shook his head mutely, and, hesitantly, gripped her hand. He knew he should not, that she was Lithuania's love and that, since Lithuania was dead, he should honor his memory. But Belarus was frightened, and his friend, and he wanted her to feel safe. He did not know how to make her feel safe, how to comfort her, without at least holding her hand.

They stayed like that until Panem came to take Belarus away. And, maybe because she didn't want to hurt America, Belarus left quietly. But America stayed alone in his cell, and he thought about the afterlife and what it must be like to die.

_"I wonder what kind of afterlife the others think about? I think…I just want everyone to be saved, but it's too late to safe everyone. So, the details don't matter, as long as it's an afterlife where everyone is safe."_

* * *

***throws chapter in your face* Here, I have righted my weird scheduling blunder! Yay. Also I cannot write Canada. Or France. Or dramatic scenes that don't drag out for a ridiculous number of pages. The end. *literally falls down and sleeps for a thousand years* **


	38. Worst Fears

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Worst Fears

He hadn't slept in more than a day, or maybe it hadn't been a day, maybe it had only been a few hours, and he was just imagining things. But unless the clock was broken, unless he was hallucinating, it had been over a day and a half since Russia had gone.

In the beginning, he was still calm enough to reason that Russia had not meant to permanently imprison him, that even in the Soviet house, Russia had come to see him often, and, indeed, had stayed with him far more often than he had been absent. This was not like Russia, to leave him alone. Something had gone wrong.

And he'd managed to convince himself at first that Russia had simply gotten sidetracked, distracted, that he would come back in a few more minutes.

But minutes kept turning into hours, and although there were no windows in the room, Lithuania knew now that night had fallen and dawn had broken once already.

By the clock, it was night again, and he was having trouble thinking clearly, having trouble remembering that Russia had not intentionally left him locked up, that Russia had planned to come back. But then, if Russia had planned to come back, and yet had not returned, something _must_ have gone horribly wrong.

He'd gone over so many scenarios, thought of many different things that could have happened to Russia, and all of those things were horrible, but the most terrible thing was the fact that, no matter what might have happened to Russia, if the other man did not come back, Lithuania would be locked in this room until he starved and died.

Dying would be a relief, but not like this, not slowly, locked up. He'd always hated being locked up, always fought to escape, but now he was weak and human and he could not break down the door. He had tried, had banged on it and screamed and pleaded for a time before he remembered that if he was heard, the soldiers might come and they would torture him again.

He'd turned off the lights, and only the glow of the digital clock illuminated the room.

And in the dark room he remembered the imprisonment and torture of the Soviet house, he remembered helplessness and fear and he began to panic despite all his efforts to breathe, to calm himself.

_"If Russia doesn't come back, I'll be trapped here forever, and if I'm trapped…I…"_

He should have thought to hide a knife in this room before, or a gun, anything; maybe there _was_ something hidden in this room, something he could use. He began searching the drawers, frantically, coming up with very little; only a few of Russia's personal belongings.

_"Russia's things…Russia's scarf…"_

He'd left the scarf lying on the bed, and he reached up and pulled it down, holding it close to his chest and trying not to think about the fact that the scarf had probably been white before it had turned pink from bloodstains, tried not to think about blood at all.

But then, he could not help but think about it; there were so many things he could associate with it and he was so frightened.

_"Russia's probably dead or captured. He's not coming back."_

"No, no…he's got to come back. He _is _coming back. He has to. He promised."

_"But when did Russia ever keep his promises?"_

He wanted to cry, _needed_ to cry, but there was nothing to harm himself with and without that he did not think he _could_ cry, even if he wanted to.

He didn't think it would work; he was almost certain that he wouldn't be able to draw blood, but it was worth a try. He bit his hand, and it did help, a little, with the panic, although it would be much better if he had stronger teeth, if he could bite harder.

He rather wondered if this would look odd to anyone who happened by, and then remembered _again_ that he was locked up, alone, probably for the rest of his life. Lithuania whimpered, although it was a muffled cry, as he still had his hand in his mouth.

"He's not…coming back."

He lowered his head, curled his legs up so that his entire body was hunched around the scarf in his left hand; his right hand was still in his mouth. He bit down harder, always in the same spot, and suddenly there were drops of blood falling on his clothes and on Russia's scarf, and he had _promised_ he wouldn't get blood on that scarf. That was the last thing he had said to Russia.

_"I won't get blood on your scarf, Ivan, don't worry."_ And then he'd gone and done it.

At least he could cry now. Maybe the reason the scarf was pink and not red was because tears had fallen on it, too.

He might have cried for hours; he didn't know, he only knew that it got darker and darker and it seemed to him that the clock's battery might be dying. He could turn on the light, but he was bleeding badly now and he _would_ be in trouble if he bled on someone else's carpet.

Not that anyone would ever remember to come and look for him, of course.

At some point in the night, he thought he was hallucinating, because he was certain he heard someone coming down the hall. He stayed immobile, sure it was a dream, and then the lock on the bedroom door clicked open, and he cowered back into the shadows behind the bed, shaking and hoping that the phantom - or human, if this was not a figment of his imagination - would go away.

"Litva?"

Russia's voice was unmistakable, and Lithuania whimpered quietly, withdrawing even further into the shadows.

"Toris, I can see you," Russia said. "And I am sorry for not coming back sooner. I ran into some trouble, but I am back now. It is okay."

"I got blood on your scarf," Lithuania whispered.

"How did you-?" Russia sighed. "I suppose…that is my fault for leaving you alone for so long. The tall man bent down, reaching out a hand to Lithuania.

"It is all right, little Lithuania. Come out. We are going to go to see Switzerland."

"Switzerland? Where did you find Switzerland?"

Russia reached for his hand, the right one, and Lithuania drew it back, extending the left one instead.

"Let me see, Toris. You are bleeding, aren't you?"

He shook his head, and Russia sighed.

"All right, we will not talk about bleeding. Will you come with me, Litva? It is time to go. The soldiers might be following me, and if they are…"

_"I can't put him in danger."_

He inched a little closer to Russia, who lifted him off the floor as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Lithuania had a faint memory of being barely conscious, of Russia carrying him from the warehouse where Panem had tortured him.

_"He keeps saving me. It used to be…I was going to save _him_…"_

His hand still hurt, and although he was safe now, he was exhausted and overwhelmed. He started to cry again, shaking and sobbing in Russia's arms, and the tall man paused and hugged him close for a minute.

"Ssh, Toris, do not cry… I know it was scary, but I am here now. I will not leave you again."

* * *

Russia had not expected to make it back safely, for as he carried Lithuania back through the darkened streets, he heard soldiers on patrol and he had worried that he would be caught, that they would both die.

But they reached Switzerland's hideout safely, and Russia found Switzerland still awake, waiting for them.

"He has fallen asleep," he whispered to Switzerland. "I do not think he had slept since I left."

"Mm," Switzerland muttered, glancing at the unconscious Lithuanian. "Well, lay him on the blankets, and he'll be fine."

Russia nodded, and silently let Lithuania down onto the pile of blankets. The boy curled up a little, moaning softly, and Russia finally saw that his right hand appeared to have been bitten, repetitively and deeply.

"Oh, Toris…" he sighed, and Switzerland was suddenly behind him, watching.

"What did that?"

"He did it, probably," Russia said. "He is…he is very sad now."

Switzerland made the 'mm' noise again.

"He wants to kill himself," Russia informed Switzerland at last. "He will try to get your gun if he finds out you have one."

"He won't be able to get it," Switzerland said. "I keep it on me at all times. Even if he tries to get it while I'm asleep, I'll wake up."

A long pause, and Russia could think of nothing to say.

"I don't want to set him off. What will make him try to kill himself?"

Russia had never really thought much about the things that made Lithuania sad. He wasn't even sure there was anything that made the boy happy, anymore. Once, there had been happy things, but all happiness had gone, and he did not quite know how to explain Lithuania's depression to Switzerland.

"Blood. Pain. Abuse. Not being able to help. Do not concern yourself over it. You are not like me; you will not harm him."

"I have a gun," Switzerland said. "I shout a lot, more than I mean to. I want to know if that will affect him.

"He will be desperate to get your gun," Russia said. "Shouting will scare him, but…I do not think it will harm his mind much more than it has already been hurt."

"You don't know how to help him, do you?"

He hadn't expected Switzerland of all people to be so perceptive, to realize things that even he tried desperately to deny.

"No," he whispered. "I don't. I am afraid he will kill himself while I am asleep, I am afraid Panem will find us and kill us, I…I am scared and I do not know how to save anyone."

"Well," Switzerland said, "that makes two of us."

* * *

"Aren't you even going to look at me?"

He probably could have if he'd tried, but it was Panem, and he had no reason to waste what little strength he still had on looking at her. He already knew what he would see. A girl, strong as always, who was probably smiling in a manner that suggested she had conquered him.

He was not dead yet. But it _was_ quite likely that she had won.

"China?" She was closer to him now. "Wouldn't you like to hear some good news?"

"No!" he whispered with all the defiance he could muster. "I wouldn't!"

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. I don't have time to play games with powerless, weak, _dying_ nations."

His mind stuck on the word 'dying', conjuring up images of his family, and of Lithuania and England.

"I've been watching these past few days," Panem said, "and you're practically useless now. You wouldn't even be able to walk to the cell door to escape if I left it wide open. So, I'll just end you now. My soldiers are hunting Russia and Switzerland, and it won't be long until they're caught. At that point, I may need your cell. So…from now on, you'll receive no water. You'll be dead before the week is out; probably long before. What do you think of that?"

"If I am to die of thirst, then I will save my words," China said. "Talking makes me thirsty."

"As I'd expect of you," Panem said. "Although your body is weak, your mind is strong. I suppose that's how you lasted so long. You make up for your weakness with your words and thoughts, and having a strong mind, you won't beg me for anything, will you?"

_"I would ask that you let Estonia go, but that would do nothing. You would only torture him more than you already have."_

He closed his eyes and waited for Panem to go away, and she did, without even kicking him this time. China lay still and quiet, thinking, waiting.

_"I wonder what she will tell the others. I would have liked to say goodbye to Estonia."_

And with his thoughts turned to the Baltic boy, there was very little he could do except lie there and worry about what would become of Estonia, who was so fragile and tried so hard to be strong. Estonia, who would have no one to take care of him now.

* * *

He would have had to be insane to not be afraid now; he knew there were cameras in the cell, knew that this was futile and that he would be caught, but this was China, dying, and he wanted to, at the very least, see his friend live one more day.

"China?" Estonia pushed open the cell door as quietly as possible; there was a way to lock the door so it required a key to be opened from the outside, but Panem had not done that, had left the cell just as before.

"Estonia?" China's voice seemed so much weaker already, but of course, it had been fading all along, throughout the days and weeks that China had been subjected to this torture.

"I brought water," he said. "And food, you can eat, I…"

"You will be killed!" China was trying to pull himself upright, probably to lecture Estonia, and the Baltic nation hurried on.

"No, listen; that doesn't matter. _You're_ going to be killed, and…"

"You knew it was coming," China said softly.

"Yes, but…"

_"I will not cry. Just this once, I will be strong and I will not cry."_

"But it's _different_…" His voice came out broken, like he was about to cry, and that didn't solve anything, didn't make him seem strong or brave or like an adult. He sounded like a child, crying for its mother.

"It's…when you're gone, there will be…"

_"No one left who…who loves me, who takes care of me. Not even a reflection of Toris."_

"It's wrong to say this, but…when you are gone, there will be no more Toris. I lost Toris once, you remind me of him…a-and I don't want…to go through that again. It's selfish, and it's better for you to die, but…"

"But you have to do it," China said gently, "because you do not want to lose your brother again."

He bit his lip, nodding, not trusting himself to speak. He was so close to crying, and he needed to be stronger, saner, just this once, to make sure that China would not worry in his dying hours.

"Oh, Estonia… You know I cannot accept this. It would only make things worse."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry."

"Do not be. There is nothing more she can do to me. In harming me, she will only speed my passing. But I am worried for you, Eduard. Will you be all right?"

"No. But I'll manage."

_"There will be no one to hold me anymore. I'll have to hold myself up now. I won't be able to do it."_

"I'll be stronger. You'll see; you'll watch from heaven, won't you? I'll be strong, I'll protect Raivis and Alfred and…and everyone else, I'll protect them! I'll…I'll…"

_"I have never been able to save a single person. So why now, at the end of the world, would I even pretend such a thing were possible?"_

"Eduard… Child, come here."

He sat down next to China, and the small man, weak and barely able to move, leaned against him, one arm wrapped around him.

"It is not your job to protect the others," China said. "Just as I could not protect my family, you cannot…protect yours. It hurts deeply to feel you have failed, but…but this _is_ the end, Eduard. We can do nothing now but wait for death and try to comfort others. You…are a fine comforter. You have comforted Alfred since his brother died, haven't you? Do that for Italy, too, if you want to help, and do that for your brother, who is suffering in his own way. You can comfort them, although there is no one in the world who can save them now. We are all…"

He broke off, coughing, and Estonia could feel every tremor pass all the way through his frail body.

"We are all doomed now," China murmured. "There is no one who can protect us. That is something that we must accept."

"Then there is no hope? What do we do if there is no hope? If there's no hope, we should all kill ourselves. If…if there's no hope…then Lithuania was the smartest of us all."

"No…it's… We cannot give up."

"But you have?"

China sighed. "I have not. I would fight if I thought it would do any good. But I am tired, Eduard. I am ready to die, and I do not think…"

"I don't think he's capable of understanding you, China," said Panem from the doorway. "He's too stupid for that."

He had been stupid to come here, stupid to try and see China again, but he had been desperate, and although it hadn't helped, it was worth it, wasn't it? To see his friend one more time before he lost him?

"You're right. I'm a fool. But you've killed him. You've…you've made him talk as if there's no hope, as if…"

"As if I've won. But I have, _Eddy_. Don't you understand yet? I've won the game already. I hold all the cards. All that remains if for me to finish annihilating those who resist me. That would be you, China, Alfred, and all other nations. I can't have you causing trouble. You know all this already."

"I know you're doing this only because you hate us," Estonia said. "That's the only reason, so don't hide it behind our 'resistance'. All we wanted was to have the right to live normal, human lives, was that so much to ask?"

"Not particularly. But doesn't it sound better if I make it sound like you fought? It absolves me of blame. I don't really like being blamed by normal humans, you see. It makes things awfully complicated. So I'll paint you as insurgents, dangerous rebels, and all will be well."

He could think of a hundred curses he wanted to spit at her, but he had called her all those things already, and it would do no good repeat them now. And it didn't matter, China was right; she had beaten them and it would be best for them all to accept their deaths rather than struggle pointlessly.

"You don't have anything to say?" she asked. "Have you given up, too?"

_"I can't decide whether to fight desperately against her or to give up. I don't know what I should do. It would be easier to submit, safer to submit, but when have I ever chosen the safe path, since the day I first stood up to Russia? Why would I choose the safe path now, when I can no longer care for my own well-being?"_

"I don't know. But China's right. It's pointless."

"Don't _tell_ her that," China said. "Forget it. It was wrong for me to say. Even if resisting_ is_ pointless, we should act as if it isn't. I am only old and tired, Eduard. Do not listen to me. Go. Go and do not return. I will die quietly that way, and not confuse you any further."

"No, no, China, you were right," Panem said. "It is quite hopeless. Everywhere Eduard could run to, he'd be hunted, and he'd be tortured by his demonic little mind besides that. He above all others needs to accept the hopelessness of his situation."

"I've had enough of this," Estonia said.

_"I know it's hopeless. I've known for years. I've never had any option but to fight for my life and well-being. Nations are not allowed to give up. And now, now that I could give up…I can't convince myself that it would really help anything. I've fought for too long, pointlessly."_

"Let's go," he said to Panem. "You're here to punish me, aren't you? Let's go."

"No, stay and talk as long as you want," Panem said. "Your punishment doesn't require my involvement at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Until China dies…" Panem's finger pointed first at China, and then, suddenly, stabbed out at Estonia. "…you, Estonia, will receive neither food nor water. By my calculations, China will die long before you could, so you'll probably survive."

"Don't…" China sounded as if he might cry, and _that _above all else would make this situation seem even more wrong. "Don't do that to him. He doesn't deserve…"

"He deserves everything," Panem said. "We've been through this. Haven't we, Eduard?"

He could feel the barely-healing burns on his back, and he nodded mutely, turned to China and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. Don't fight her."

"Didn't I say the same to you? And still you fought her."

"You don't have enough strength to fight anymore. And I have to go. You know I have to go, right?"

"Yes," China said. "Although I would like you to stay."

"As I said, stay as long as you like," Panem said. "But I'll be taking this." She picked up the food and water Estonia had brought, and then she was gone.

"What am I saying?" China muttered. "All of this is confusing me. Eduard, go away. I'll make you question your very existence if I go on like this."

The small man sighed heavily, and his voice was so quiet and hoarse that Estonia could barely make out his words.

"Forget what I said. There _is_ hope, for anyone who has the strength to walk out of this place. So do not give up. You can still walk. Perhaps you will get away."

"I could carry you."

"No. You could not. You can hardly carry yourself. You know that. Go on, Eduard. And remember, there is hope for you."

"I could stay…"

"No. Don't. Go on."

He nodded, helping China lean back against the wall.

"Comfortable?"

"Comfortable enough."

"Then I'll go." He hadn't had such a strong sensation that he was abandoning someone who needed him since the Soviet days, since Lithuania had taken the brunt of Russia's hurt, since Latvia, unknowing and clumsy, had taken the secondary force. He'd felt more abandonment of his own since then than he could possibly hold in, but he had not felt that _he_ was the one leaving someone dear to him alone for a very long time.

"Goodbye, China."

"Goodbye, Eduard." A pause. "This is not your fault."

"I…suppose not."

_"I of all people could have stopped this. Me, Raivis, and America, we are the three people who could have stopped this. Raivis had no reason to try harder, for he was and is a child who only wanted a normal friend, although he has learned to act like an adult now. America is also a child, so although he has no right to his childishness and should have given it up, as a child, he cannot be faulted too deeply. But I, who have not had even a semblance of childhood for so many years, and who knows loneliness so deeply…I should have known, and I should have stopped her."_

"Thank you, China," he said. "Thank you for everything."

China nodded tiredly, and Estonia turned away quietly and left the cell, closed the door behind him, and went away. He walked the corridors, back to his room, where Latvia was doubtless waiting for him, and all the while he felt as if he might be crushed by the blame that China had told him he must not feel.

_"As a demon and a fool, of course I am to blame. But I cannot tell a dying man such a thing. I have stood next to one who was dying before, fading before my eyes, and I have blamed myself for that death, although it was not a 'true' death, but the closest thing for one who, at that time, could not die. And as I blamed myself, so he blamed himself for what I felt, for not protecting me. As an older brother, as someone like Lithuania was when he was sane and alive, China might act as he did. I would not have anyone else die like Lithuania did - as I probably will - hating themselves because they feel they are to blame."_

He reached his room, went inside, and Latvia was there, looking pale and tired and confused.

"I have to eat with Panem tonight," he said. "She said you'd explain why we're not getting room service. I mean…that sounds pretentious and weird, but…why are we not getting room service?"

"Because I'm an idiot," Estonia said. "As usual, it's my fault."

He lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and Latvia was there a moment later. Once, the boy would have flopped down on the bed, but now he sat on the edge, and Estonia could feel him watching.

"She is having China killed," he said. "I…don't want to lose him, Rai."

"Of course not," Latvia said. "You've gotten really close to him. I'm sorry it had to be him."

"It's not your fault. It's just that… I was stupid, and I tried to bring him food and water, so he wouldn't die too fast… I just…I just didn't think, and…"

"Eddy, if it makes you sad then you shouldn't talk about it. Don't you know, talking about sad things will just make you even sadder?"

"He reminded me of Toris, Raivis." He said it quietly, admitting his folly in the softest whisper. "He reminded me of Toris and _I'm not ready to lose him. _Not again. I can't do this again."

"Ssh, ssh, Eddy, ssh…" Latvia had a calm voice and calm hands and he seemed so much _older_, suddenly, like Lithuania in the way he tried to calm Estonia.

"So Panem isn't letting you eat?" Latvia asked. "For how long?"

"Until China dies. No water either. I'm sorry, Raivis. I didn't mean…"

"I know." Latvia smiled sadly. "I would've done the same thing, I'm sure, if it were Eirikur. It's not a problem for me. I can deal with going to dinner with Panem for a few days. But…will you be okay, Eddy?"

"I'll be fine," Estonia said. "Although I think I'll stop talking. I don't want to get too thirsty."

He rolled over on his side, facing the wall, tucked his knees up to his chest and tried not to think about China, about death, about hunger and thirst. And Latvia started singing, sometimes in English, but more often in Latvian, and although Estonia knew very little of Latvia's language, the little boy's songs comforted him.


	39. Found

**Shadow at eight thirty this morning: Yeah! It's Saturday! I'll clean the guinea pig cage, eat some nice food, and then go revise WiB!**

**Shadow now: *string of curses***

**If any of you are responsible for those awful spam popups, I hate you. (But I am sure you guys wouldn't do that...right? *suspicious face* xDDD)**

**Well, rant over! I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Found

Lithuania must have dozed off at some point, while Russia was carrying him through the dark, for he woke to find that he was in an unfamiliar place, and Russia was gone again.

"Ivan?" he whispered, sitting up, wide-eyed.

"He went back to get some things," said a voice. "He's been gone an hour; he'll be back soon."

Switzerland was on his knees close to Lithuania, staring at his hands, and glancing up cautiously at Lithuania when the boy glanced at him.

"Russia told me not to let you kill yourself," he said softly. "I don't intend to disobey."

_"How much has Ivan told him…?"_

"He can't tell me why you want to do it, exactly," Switzerland said. "So…I don't want to make you want to die. If I say something and it hurts you, you tell me, and I'll fix it."

"I don't think anyone can fix it," Lithuania said tiredly. "But thank you."

Switzerland shrugged, and they sat in silence for a little while, Switzerland staring at his hands without looking up, now.

"I understand," Switzerland said suddenly. "I think it might be best if we all killed ourselves."

"Better than being tortured again," Lithuania whispered, because that sounded ever so slightly saner than what he had wanted to say. And then Switzerland went and said the insane thing that Lithuania had been thinking.

"Better than living with our failures, more like. I can live with torture. It's the failures that hurt. But don't tell Russia. It will frighten him, me saying this to you."

"It's nothing I haven't already heard from myself," Lithuania said. "It might scare him, but…he wouldn't throw you out. He's kinder than that."

"That's not what they said after the-" Switzerland broke off, shaking his head. "I'm going to upset you."

"Usually, people who upset others were upset first," Lithuania said softly. "It's not your fault."

"Is it not?"

"I don't think it is."

"You don't even _know_ what it is."

"You're right," Lithuania said. "I don't know. But I do know that I've been hurt before, and I've lived with many others who were hurt, and the pain was never their fault. That pain was caused by someone else, whose pain was caused by someone else…it keeps on going back. Whatever happened to you wasn't your fault."

"You can say that and still want to kill yourself?" Switzerland asked. "Don't you believe your own advice?"

"I…I don't…"

_"I'm the only one who has to be blamed. The important thing is to keep from blaming others for things - to keep from being torn apart by madness and a desire for revenge, the way Eduard and Ivan were. As long as I can do that…I'm... What is it that I'm trying to prove by not blaming others? I don't know, but I know that placing the blame on other people is never helpful. Which means that the only person I can blame…is myself."_

"Hey," Switzerland's voice was urgent now. "Don't get upset."

"I'm not upset," Lithuania said. He looked up at Switzerland, saw deep and desperate sadness in the blond nation's eyes and wondered what had put it there.

"If you need someone to talk to," he said, "I'm here. I'd listen. I want to listen. I want to help you."

"It's like you said," Switzerland said, and his voice was shaking ever so slightly. "I don't think anyone can fix it."

Switzerland turned to Lithuania, and he had never seen Switzerland on the brink of tears before.

"Liechtenstein died in that explosion," he said, and those five words told Lithuania all he needed to know. That Switzerland was like him, blaming himself for harm done to those he loved in his absence, and that Switzerland, like him, needed either vengeance on those who had harmed his loved ones, or else needed to punish himself most brutally for his failure.

"Estonia and Latvia are in prison," Lithuania murmured. "If they're still alive. I couldn't help them, either, like you couldn't help Liechtenstein. I'm sorry. If I had known she was still inside, I would have found her and gotten her out."

"The end of the building that blew first, that's where we were," Switzerland said. "I woke up…later. A long while later. I don't know, I think she bled to death, I…"

Lithuania couldn't tell if Switzerland was crying; the blond man was facing away from him, but he was shaking as if trying to repress sobs, and he reached out and laid his hand on Switzerland's shoulder.

"I understand," he said. "And I would be a hypocrite to tell you that you aren't to blame, since I blame myself for my brothers' imprisonment. But I'm telling you, nonetheless, that you really are not to blame in this. Blame Panem if you want, or go further back and find who hurt her, and blame that person. But don't blame yourself for something that…that clearly wasn't your fault. I…if you can, don't blame anyone at all. I wasn't strong enough to do that, I had to blame someone, so I blamed myself, but…try not to blame anyone for it."

"I can't help that," Switzerland snapped. His voice lowered as he continued, growing quiet with sadness and pain. "I want to kill Panem. But I want to die in the attempt. I don't want to continue fighting for my existence in a world where Heidi is dead. It's better to just hurry up and die. I used to think that if something like this ever happened, I'd stay alive to protect Heidi. But, since she's dead, there's no reason for me to live. But I want to at the very least take a few of Panem's soldiers with me."

"I'd rather just die," Lithuania said. "That way I wouldn't have to hurt anyone else, ever again. But then…anything, even death, is better than hiding here, useless, like cowards. I don't think Russia understands it, but…that's how I feel. Hiding like this…is a coward's way of cheating death. And I don't want to cheat death. I've done that for so many years. I've been tired for hundreds of years, and…I'm ready to go. But I think Russia, being like a child, doesn't understand how blissful a relief death would be. Children are frightened of the unknown. And Russia, besides his childish fears, is afraid of being alone. He is afraid of what would happen if I were to die and he was left alone, and so, he wants to hide from Panem and from death. But I at least am too tired to want to hide. I just want my ending."

He thought, looking at quiet, lost Switzerland, that he was probably not the only one who longed for this to end.

And then, suddenly, Switzerland was not so lost. His eyes sharpened, narrowed, and he appeared to be listening intently.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered.

And Lithuania did hear, heard the crunch of car tires over the ruins; heard them coming closer and closer and knew what they must mean.

"They're coming for us," he breathed. "Does that mean-? Do they have Ivan?"

"We don't know that," Switzerland said grimly. "But we'll find out soon enough. Come on, we've got to go."

"Go?" His mind went blank, and he could not quite remember why they were supposed to run away. And then he remembered; all of this was pointless, they were going to be caught eventually anyway, and it would be easiest to just allow himself to die.

"Why do we have to go?" he asked. "We could let them catch us, they'd kill us, they…"

"If they have Ivan already, we can surrender," Switzerland said, and Lithuania was shocked to hear utter calmness in the other man's voice despite their danger. "There's no point in running unless we have a reason to run. You're right about that. We'll probably be caught eventually anyways, so there isn't any point, unless Ivan is still free. If he is free, and we surrender, we are leaving him alone and that is cruel. You do not want to hurt him, do you?"

He barely even cared what happened to Russia now. He would rather the big man be alone than have to spend all his time running away while caring for _him_, for Lithuania who would rather be left behind to die, and could never truly thank Russia for the care he had given.

But Switzerland grabbed his hand, pulled him up with a sort of impatient gentleness, and pulled him further into the building, away from the sounds of cars and soldiers.

"Where do we go?" Lithuania whispered.

"We'll get outside, or if the other exit is blocked, we'll go up," Switzerland said. "I have…"

He hesitated in his speech, sighed, and then whispered: "I have a gun. I can hold them off."

But neither of them really _wanted_ to hold the soldiers off; they merely wished to die, to stop pointlessly running away, and perhaps it was because of that that Switzerland seemed to be going unusually slow; perhaps it was because of that that the blond nation did not keep a better eye on the path ahead. But it might also have been because he was dragging Lithuania with him, and Lithuania thought that he was too heavy a burden for anyone to bear swiftly away from this conflict.

He could hear shouts behind them; flashlight beams probed the area where they had been only moments before. He kept looking back, and Switzerland pressed determinedly onward, toward who knew what hidden exit.

"T-they're coming," he stammered, and Switzerland nodded once, then stopped dead, staring at something straight in front of them. And Lithuania followed his gaze, already having guessed that he would see the girl standing in their path.

He had not particularly expected to see her holding a gun pointed at Switzerland's head, but if she chose to shoot, he could pull Switzerland away and probably take the bullet himself.

"Well," Panem said, "I see Lithuania is still alive. How unfortunate. I thought I'd killed him, especially when the soldiers found _you_ with Russia, Switzerland."

"Toris," Switzerland said, "I don't expect you to follow my order, but I want you to take…no. That won't work. You'll kill yourself."

He had only twice before heard anyone sound so defeated. He had heard such pain and defeat from Estonia, and, later, from Russia, but to hear it from Switzerland was almost worse and yet less painful, because he did not know Switzerland well, nor fully understand his pain.

"Then," Switzerland said to Panem, "my only plan is to shoot you."

"I've already died once," Panem said. "In fact, I was strangled to death. I don't imagine being shot can be much more frightening, so go ahead. I'll probably enjoy it."

And how could anyone enjoy dying, wondered Lithuania, who had died, it seemed, a thousand times, and had died in his deepest hopes and dreams a thousand times more. For he did not wish to die because he wished to be in pain, but because he knew that, after his final death, he would never more wake to pain and suffering.

Switzerland's gun went off, and the gasping, pained laugh that Lithuania heard was_ infused_ with madness, like Russia's and Estonia's voices so long ago.

"You missed," Panem giggled. "That was my shoulder, and too high to do any damage. Silly, silly. You can't shoot a child, can you, Basch?"

"You are not a child," said Switzerland, and Lithuania, in the moment of realization that, no, Panem was not a child, but merely a twisted monster that might once have been a child, heard footsteps behind them and spun round, not knowing what he could do, but hoping, hoping, that he could do some good and protect Switzerland.

He had not had the energy or will to practice since the world's collapse, but he had once known a little of the martial arts, and it was with the memory of what he had once known that he lashed out, blindly, at the soldier behind him. If he was shot, so be it, but just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard Panem's order.

"Don't shoot him! He'll be _very_ useful to me. He's to be taken back alive."

"I won't let you!" The cliché phrase burst from his mouth, but it was not so cliché as it had once been, when he shouted the same words in defense of his family. Now, it was ridiculous for him to shout such a thing, for he was weak and tired, and he simply _did not_ want to be taken alive, did not want to suffer anymore.

And he really did try to block the blow from the butt of the soldier's gun, but the slant of his forearm was off, too straight and not slanted enough to deflect the blow, and he crumpled to the ground, sobbing from the pain of his forearm being shattered.

"Oh, now I'll have to fix that," Panem grumbled. "Annoying. You always do screw everything up, don't you, Toris? You're very good at that."

Crumpled on the ground, clutching his arm and trying not to cry, he could not really argue with her. And again Switzerland fired at Panem; again, he must have missed his mark, because Panem's laughter shattered the air, although it was fainter and more pained this time.

"Give it up, Basch," she giggled. "If I was a boy, maybe then you could shoot me. But you won't be able to hit the mark, unless it's by accident."

She paused, and when she spoke again, there was an almost contemplative tone in her voice.

"I talked to Heidi a few times, you know. She was, I suppose, nice enough. She would have been fun to- Ah, there we are, Basch, you _finally_ managed to shoot straight!"

And Lithuania, on the ground, saw Panem also on the ground, sitting quite casually and sedately as if she had not just been shot in the chest.

"Did you hit her?" he whispered, pain racking his voice, confusing him - why did they need to shoot Panem? Why was she hurting them, again?

"Yes," Switzerland said. And then, despairingly, he muttered: "And I'm out of ammunition now, so I'm going to surrender."

"You're strong enough, fight and get out…" Lithuania clenched his teeth, resisted the urge to bite his hand simply to keep himself from screaming, but then, he was already in pain, and screaming would make it feel better.

But if he screamed, Switzerland would feel guilty. And Russia, wherever he was, might hear and try to rescue him, and he must not let that happen.

"No." The defeat in Switzerland's voice reminded him too much of his own thoughts, had been reminding him of his own thoughts all through this night, as they sat talking, but it was at its worst now, and it hurt to hear such sorrow in another human's voice.

"I'm not going to run away, pointlessly," Switzerland said. "They probably already have Russia."

"We don't," Panem's voice was raspy, choked, and she was kneeling amid the rubble, bleeding. "But thank you for telling me that he was with you. I thought my soldiers might have lied."

She staggered to her feet, clutching at the wound in her chest, nodding at the soldier who still stood above Lithuania, presumably the highest-ranking soldier present.

"I'll wait in one of the trucks - find the personification of Russia and imprison him. Use Lithuania as bait; he'll come if you threaten his pet's safety. When we get back to headquarters, you'll have to…to notify a doctor to fix me, I think? I don't know, I'm going to the truck, you're in charge."

She sounded like a confused child, and then she turned and staggered off, and they weren't supposed to hear her curse, weakly, but they did hear and they pretended not to, because she was Panem and, after all, Switzerland at least did not care what happened to her.

Lithuania did, but he pretended not to.

_"She is just a child…no, no, she is a monster who looks like a child, and Switzerland was not wrong to shoot her. She will suffer and it will be pointless, but…but it was _right_."_

"Russia may have a chance of getting away with her out of the action," Switzerland said. "She's the only one, I think, who could match him in a fight. He's still inhumanly strong, although he's mortal now. He carried you all the way here."

"He won't leave us," Lithuania said, and the weight of what they had done, letting Panem capture them, finally hit him.

_"We've left him all alone. He doesn't want to be alone, and no matter how much I want to die, it was wrong of me, wrong wrong wrong, not to think of his wishes. He'll be frightened alone, and…he'll be captured too. He'll die just like Switzerland and I, and he doesn't even want to. He wants to fight and live, but he doesn't want to do it alone, and we've just…"_

"We have doomed him," he whispered. "He will turn himself in."

"I'm sorry," Switzerland said, kneeling next to him, taking his uninjured arm, helping him stand.

"No, I'm selfish and I wasn't thinking about Russia, about what Russia would want. It's my fault. Don't blame yourself."

Switzerland smiled, and Lithuania wondered if he looked that bitter to everyone around him when he spoke of his own self-hatred.

"I'm just starting to understand self-hatred. I can't stop now, can I? It's too late for that."

* * *

Alone in one of her army's trucks while the soldiers outside searched for Russia and secured the other prisoners, Panem shivered.

She didn't remember death being cold before, but then, she'd been strangled before and she hadn't really had time to think about what it felt like. But it was cold now, though that might be because the season was changing, turning cold, from fall to early winter.

She wanted to cross Switzerland and Lithuania's names off the list in her pocket, but she hadn't killed them yet, so she didn't dare cross off their names. Something might go wrong, and then she would look awfully foolish, having to uncross the names.

She did need to write, though.

_"Instructions. In case I don't wake up before they have to put them in their cells."_

Getting the notebook out of the pocket of her uniform might have been the hardest thing she'd done in some time, what with the blood and pain and how hard it was to move her shoulder. It felt nice enough, bleeding, but it was fairly inconvenient when she needed to do something.

They'd been stupid to make her uniform white. The blood would never come out of it now.

Her eyebrows knit together as she tried to focus, to remember her plans and what she needed to tell her soldiers to do.

_Switzerland - Austria's cell._

There was blood on her hands and now it was on the pen and on the paper, and how was she going to explain that she had let herself be shot and killed just because she felt like it, because she was exhausted and bored, because she hadn't had time to torture anyone else nearly enough, because she just wanted to control this one thing?

She could control her own death. That was good.

_Russia - cell 7, end of corridor._

She was supposed to have breakfast with Raivis. She probably wouldn't be awake for breakfast.

_Lithuania - China's cell. Move to Be_

The writing disintegrated into faint, illegible scribbles. Hopefully she'd wake up before China died. Hopefully, the soldiers wouldn't act on their own and disrupt her plans.

She didn't remember being cold before. She didn't remember being scared either. But she hadn't known then that dying was scary, and she'd forgotten it in the meantime.

_"Well, at least it's interesting. And I'll be awake by morning. I'll treat this like a little vacation - getting the sleep I deserve, and wouldn't get if I had to coordinate everything. Capturing them is no fun, anyways. The torture is the fun part, and that comes later."_

That night was the second time in her existence that Perri Jones, personification of Panem, went to sleep and fell into a world of nightmares. Pain inflicted by her own hand, whether on herself or on others, made her feel better, but pain she could not control was frightening.

* * *

Russia could have, should have turned and run away. But when he saw the headlights lighting up the abandoned sector of city before him, his pace quickened, anxiety infusing his body and threatening to turn to panic at any point.

_"They will have caught Toris and Basch; they will kill them, I must go and save them…"_

And he knew he could not save them, not without fighting and harming someone else, and he had no weapon, no way to fight, nor did he wish to harm another human, even if it was a soldier under the service of a most vile new government. But this was Lithuania, his Litva, who might be in danger of his life, and certainly of his sanity, and he must save Lithuania, or all the world was worth nothing to him.

_"Without him, I am alone forever. Without him, I have failed."_

He crested a little hill in the road and found himself staring down at the place which had, so recently, been Switzerland's dark, secret sanctuary from the wrath of Panem. It was opened to bright, unnatural light now, and it was no longer a secret, for soldiers seemed to be everywhere, although there was no sign of Panem.

He searched the scene for the two boys - Switzerland, just like himself and Lithuania, was nothing more than a child - and found them at last when his eyes roved to the building itself. There, he saw the soldiers clustered, dragging the boys as if they were unwilling to come, although Switzerland stood tall and almost serene, although Lithuania only hesitated because he was obviously in great pain, as, indeed, he had been since the final collapse that had doomed the former nations.

And Lithuania, sobbing, dragged from the darkened building into a ruin full of lights, looked rather like a captured insurgent, rather like an angel, but most of all like a broken child. And his eyes caught the light and for a moment blazed as if infused with sunshine, and although Russia knew that those eyes would never again reflect true and joyous sunlight, it was, for an instant, a beautiful sight. Then Lithuania looked up, must have seen Russia standing on the hill, and he looked away so very quickly, as if even his passing glance might doom Russia to his fate. And Russia wished to run to him, to fight through those soldiers, ignoring their guns, get to Lithuania and carry him far away where he could never be harmed.

But then Lithuania looked up again, his eyes not eyes of sunshine, but of simple, clear sadness, and smiled, shaking his head at Russia.

He knew that Lithuania was telling him to go, but he could not do such a thing. His life was purposeless without that boy, without the sunshine that had kept him going even when it had been nearly snuffed out by pain and sorrow.

He would not leave Lithuania, and he started down the hill hesitantly, even as Lithuania's eyes widened, even as the boy shouted: "Don't, Ivan, for pity's sake, don't be stupid!"

And if it all this was for Lithuania, he would have run away, but it was _himself_ that he thought of, he who hated to be alone and would throw away his life rather than endure such a fate, and it was because of his lonely selfishness that he kept on walking toward the soldiers, despite Lithuania's shouting for him to stop, despite Lithuania struggling - when was the last time Lithuania had struggled so desperately; had it been back in the Soviet days? Or had he been struggling like this all along?

The soldiers had noticed him now; their leader was shouting at him, but he could not quite make out the words. He did not want to make out the words, because obeying meant that Panem had won, and he hadn't wanted Panem to win. He had wanted them to live, all of them, and when he had lost Belarus and China to her prison, Ukraine to the explosion that had murdered so many, he had held on to Lithuania and he had believed that the boy would recover, that they would survive, despite knowing that it could never be.

The lead soldier leveled his gun at Russia, and he held up his hands hastily, tried to focus on what the soldier was saying.

"Surrender now, or I'll shoot!"

"I have surrendered," he said simply, and walked past the soldier, who seemed in his eyes to be a mere child, to where Lithuania and Switzerland were. Switzerland watched him approach, but Lithuania had collapsed on the ground, sobbing, one arm cradled loosely against his chest.

The soldiers drew back slightly as he approached, certainly not out of respect, but perhaps out of fear. Russia, the man who had once been the world's largest nation, paid no attention to them, nor did he stop to think of why they drew back.

"Is it better to die than to be alone?" Switzerland said simply, as Russia approached. Lithuania's sobs grew louder, splitting the air, and Russia knelt and lifted the boy, careful not to jostle his wounded arm.

"You said that she would find us sooner or later, did you not, Toris?" he asked, and then, suddenly, he was answering Switzerland. "I would rather die with my friends than run away and die alone eventually."

"I would have liked to," Switzerland said. "Things like this seldom work out so that we get what we wish for."

And Russia, who had never gotten what he wished for since his beginning, turned silently, nodded to the soldiers, and allowed them to lead him, carrying Lithuania, to one of the army trucks, Switzerland following. And all the while, Lithuania sobbed quietly.

* * *

**I don't know either. Especially about anything in this chapter that has to do with Panem. That was not my idea. (Seriously Perri, dying was NOT my plan right now. *sigh*)**

**Anyways yes. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Shadow out! **


	40. Immortal

Chapter Forty: Immortal

Everyone in the prison knew China was dying by morning. Maybe Panem had told them; maybe Latvia had, or one of the soldiers. In any case, Estonia entered America's cell to find the older boy uncharacteristically quiet, watching him sadly.

"I'm sorry about China," America whispered.

"Does everyone know?" Estonia asked, although he thought that if America knew, everyone must. "Do I need to tell Italy?"

"Nah," America said. "The guards were talking about it last night, using it to scare us, telling the others they'd be next. They don't get it, though. We all _want _to be next. Except maybe Italy and Austria; I'm not sure about them."

America sighed, looking old and tired without his once-unbreakable smile. And in that tired sigh, Estonia recognized himself, and thought that he and America were not so different, that they had both lost a brother because of their mistakes, that they had no choice but to continue blaming themselves for each new tragedy.

"I don't want China to die," America said. "I don't-"

"Me neither," Estonia said. "But in China's case…I think it's best."

"You don't sound too good," America noted suddenly. "You okay?"

"Yes, fine. I've just been crying."

He had been crying, but more than that, he had been without food or water for hours now. And how could he tell America that he was being punished? The boy did not need any more guilt.

"Here's your food," he said, handing America the food. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay and talk today. I'm not good company."

"Go get some rest, Ed," America said. "You don't look good."

"I said I was fine."

"Yeah, but you Baltics are the masters at pretending to be okay when you're not."

He shook his head and turned away, lifting one hand to wave to America. He did not have the energy to argue with the tall boy.

_"Get Italy his food, deliver it, and then I can go back to my room. Raivis is taking meals with Panem; that means I'll be free for quite awhile, if he has to report to her after this. I can sleep for awhile, if I'm lucky."_

Not that he had ever _really_ been the lucky one, even in the days when he'd been free.

He got Italy's food and started down the hall, trying not to think about how much he wanted to eat, even if it was only bread and water. Bread and water sounded wonderful after twenty-four hours on an empty stomach.

_"But if I eat, who knows what Panem will do? Certainly, it will be nothing good."_

He opened the door to Italy's cell, and, as always, the red-haired nation smiled and bounced up, thrilled to see another human being. Italy, it seemed, had some sort of magical tolerance of being alone, but most certainly did not enjoy it.

"Hello, Italy."

"Hello!" Italy chirped. "How are you today, Mr. Estonia? You look a little pale."

"Everyone's saying that," Estonia said. "I'm just tired. Don't worry about it."

"Okay." Italy nodded. "How's everyone else? Are they doing okay? It's a little boring here, huh? I thought it might be more interesting, but it's just a lot of sitting still."

_"You're lucky Panem has been too busy to torture you yet,"_ Estonia thought, but he couldn't say that aloud to Italy, who seemed to be trying awfully hard to pretend that everything would be all right.

"Everyone's doing fairly well," he told Italy. "Although they say China is dying."

_"He needs to know that, at least."_

"Oh." Italy's smile disappeared. "The soldiers were saying that last night. Is it true, then?"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh."

Italy tucked his legs close to his chest, resting his head on his knees, looking thoughtful.

"You don't have to worry about it, Italy," Estonia said quietly. "I think…I think China's all right with it."

"Yeah. Probably." Italy seemed vacant and sad now, and Estonia made a mental note not to mention death to him again.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

And Italy looked up, smiled brilliantly, and shook his head.

"No, I'll get better in a minute. I've just got to think about it. I'm okay."

And so Estonia left Italy's cell and went out into the hallway, trying to ignore the memory of the vacancy in Italy's eyes, and his suddenly vibrant smile.

He wasn't sure he knew how to identify insanity; he was even less sure that Italy was in fact insane. But nonetheless, there was something seriously wrong with the red-haired boy.

There was shouting at the other end of the corridor, and Estonia stopped dead, uncertain of how to proceed. Fear at the thought of what might be behind that shouting seeped into his body, threatening to overwhelm his already hurting mind.

_"What is it? A prison riot? No, no, none of us are stupid enough…the soldiers couldn't be hurting Raivis, could they? Could they?"_

Then he looked down the hallway and saw that it was not only the prison guards there, but strangers, other soldiers, and that these soldiers had their hands on the shoulders of people not in uniform, people in tattered clothes, people with bound hands.

_"New prisoners."_

He probably knew them, but he was suddenly afraid to look, and he let his gaze dart away to the floor. But the prisoners _would_ be coming down here; there was yet one unoccupied cell, at the end of the hallway, and there was China's cell just to Estonia's right. And he _had_ to look, had to know; he would find out who the new prisoners were eventually, anyways.

He looked up as the guards dragged the new prisoners closer, and saw that there were three of them. The first, Switzerland - he knew Switzerland from the world meetings and remembered there being a stubborn fire in the man's eyes that was utterly absent now - went on quietly, his head lowered, and they took him to the cell directly across from where Estonia stood, Austria's cell.

_"I don't feel there's any reason they should be together. It's true they were once friends, but…what can Panem accomplish by putting friends-turned-rivals in the same cell?"_

He was jerked from his wondering by shouting just to his right, and he whirled round to see Russia fighting the guards - he'd already thrown one of them up against the wall - shouting almost unintelligibly, quite possibly in his own language. (Which Estonia should have understood, but maybe Russia was only shouting gibberish and the idea that he might be losing his grasp of the languages he had spoken in his lifetime was a ridiculous one to entertain.)

And then Estonia's eyes fell on the guards that Russia was trying to reach, and the prisoner between them, who was just being pushed into China's cell. Estonia only saw him for an instant, and surely, surely, what he saw had been wrong.

_"Toris?"_

Then the boy was gone, disappeared into the cell; then, Estonia was sure that it had been a dream. For such a thing could not be real, nor could it be possible that Lithuania had been returned to them alive and imprisoned. He could not possibly believe such a thing.

_"I'm hallucinating. It's…it's the lack of food, it has to be, it wasn't Toris, it had to be someone else…"_

He shrank back into the shadows as Russia passed, saw the tall man glance at him, saw the childish, wide violet eyes go even wider, and wondered how it was that Russia could see the damage that had been inflicted on him now, when he had never seen it before.

Then the door at the end of the hallway clanged shut behind Russia; then, suddenly, the soldiers were gone. And Estonia turned away, feeling like a ghost, and walked the empty halls back to his room, certain that his insanity had reached an even deeper level.

"It was not him," he said quietly, staring out the barred window. "Toris is dead, and I am insane."

* * *

He was late to see Panem, late because the soldiers had brought Switzerland in while he was delivering Austria's food, and he had had to run back to the kitchen and get more. And Switzerland, always so scarily quiet, had looked at him as if he wanted to say something, but had then fallen deeply silent, saying nothing even to Austria, who, in turn, did nothing except tell Latvia to go.

Panem's breakfasts were usually no different from those that he and Estonia received, but it was probably better like this, considering Estonia's current punishment. Eating in front of the older boy would have been nothing less than utter cruelty, even if the alternative was sharing a meal with an overly obsessive psychopath.

Panem's door was closed today, and Latvia knocked hesitantly, waiting for an answer. The voice that answered him was hesitant, quiet, very unlike Panem's usual demeanor.

"Come in."

He did, whispering: "It's me, Raivis," as he entered.

She was sitting in a chair by her window, which did not have bars on it, staring out. He hadn't seen her look so childish in a long time, but she looked like a child now, knees tucked up to her chest, long hair falling into her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, although _of course_ she was not okay. Had she ever been okay?

"No," Panem said. "I'm thinking. Shocking, isn't it?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

He stepped cautiously into the room, and she turned a little to look at him. She was, he thought, extremely pale, almost as if she had just woken from a nation's death. And from her quietness and the contemplative look in her unusually calm eyes, perhaps she had.

"Did you die?" he blurted.

"Yes." She was staring out the window again, but, suddenly, she swung her legs down off the chair, stood up, and she was proud Panem once again, instead of the childish Perri that he had seen a moment ago. She strode to her bed, and then the proud image _collapsed_, and she sank down on the bed, sighing.

"I'm confused," she muttered. "I'm so confused."

"That's okay." Latvia crossed the room to her, his steps hesitant, so unlike her proud confidence. "Being confused is pretty normal for a nation."

"Now, Rai, we both know I'm hardly normal for a nation." Now she sounded more like herself, just a bit. He'd never seen her like this before, alternating between the girl he remembered and loved and the woman he feared and dreaded.

"You don't seem like your normal confused," he said.

"I think I committed suicide," she said. "I don't know why."

So he had been right - she _had_ just woken from death. And he'd barely ever been on this side of death. Usually it was he who had died, he, clumsy Raivis, who had been lost for hours in his people's most agonizing memories. He must have died a thousand times; he was almost used to it.

But she was a child, a mere baby compared to him, and she could not understand a nation's death, not yet.

"Was it scary?" he asked.

"Yeah. Not as bad as the first time, in some ways. That time, I didn't have any idea what was coming. This time was kind of funny. Their memories - I'm indifferent to them, Rai. I don't care. Am I supposed to care?"

"It's…probably safer not to." How many times had he become attached to one of his people, how many times had he later felt them die? No, it was not safe to get attached.

"But am I supposed to care?"

"Panem. It doesn't matter."

And it didn't. It didn't matter if she cared. They were her people, yes, but, as she was now, she couldn't care about them even if she wanted to. He knew that, even if she didn't, and he wanted…

_"What do I want? To make her feel normal? She's not. She is Panem and Panem is not normal, even for a nation."_

"It doesn't, does it?" Panem asked. "And that's not even what I wanted to talk about. What I want to say is…I'm back in control of things again."

And she smiled suddenly, as if she had, in that instant, fully become the proud and cruel Panem again.

"I'll be able to get back to torture," she said. "Isn't that great, Raivis?"

"No," he said. "It's not. I hate it. Please stop."

"Aw, Rai, are you getting depressed? Then, to cheer you up, I'll share something with you."

She leaned over toward him, her hair brushing against his ear.

"I'm getting tired of Estonia. And after I kill him, you can come play with me as often as you want. You won't be allowed down in the prison anymore, so you'll _have _to play with me then."

"No!" The cry burst from his lips before he remembered that it was pointless to argue with her. "Not Eddy, no!"

She laughed coldly, and he might have been angry with her if he had had the strength, but he was tired, weak, a tiny child against an immortal nation, and he could not argue or believe she was lying, for she did not lie in matters of torture and death, and the fatal words had been spoken from her lips.

_"She is going to kill Eddy."_

"You know, you just exist to hurt other people," he said. "That's the only reason you have to live, in your own eyes. It's pretty sad, Panem."

It was not just 'pretty sad'; it was quite possibly the saddest thing he had ever thought of, but he did not know how to say that to Panem. And it wouldn't matter anyways, for she was laughing at him.

"I know, Raivis," she giggled. "But that's fine. As long as I'm having fun."

_"Someday, when we're gone, she'll have to grow up and take on the responsibilities of a nation. And those are dull responsibilities, nothing like this. I wonder if she'll be able to live without torturing other people. I wish she'd learn to live without it now."_

"Your fun makes it so that we can never laugh again," he said. "Is it so very fun, then?"

"We've been through this, Raivis," Panem said. "It is _more_ than fun because of how much they hate this, how much it hurts them. Torturing them is bliss and _I_ of all people deserve my happiness once in a while."

_"You're selfish and mean, and I wish you weren't, but there's no stopping you, is there? Saving everybody; that's impossible. It's always been impossible. Nations aren't supposed to be saved. So Panem…won't be saved either, in the end. Even if she wins, if she kills us all, that won't…that won't make her happy."_

"You'll just end up empty inside," he said. "When you don't have anyone to hurt anymore, you'll also have no one to talk to, and then you'll feel empty."

"Wrong, Rai. When I don't have anyone to hurt anymore, that'll mean I've won. And that will ensure I never feel empty or useless again."

And he, he knew what it felt like to be empty and useless, and he knew that murdering everyone could not heal Panem of that. Attempting murder had only destroyed Estonia's mind more completely than Russia's words could have done.

"It can't… It doesn't work like that, Panem. You won't be in control anymore, either. Your government will just make you do a bunch of paperwork and stuff. It won't be any fun; it will just be lonely."

He should have known better than to reason with her, but he tried anyways, because his name, he had been told, meant 'advisor', and if his name meant anything at all then he of all people should have been able to reason with Panem.

But there was no magic in his name, just as there was no true magic in the nations' immortality. And Panem laughed at his words, and did not answer them.

* * *

"What do you think she's looking to accomplish by doing this? Making us cellmates?"

Switzerland had been trying to pretend that Austria was not there, trying to think about things, trying _not_ to think about Panem, and of course Austria had to go and mention it. At least the Austrian didn't seem hurt. That would have been an even bigger mess to deal with.

He'd been trying to figure out why Panem would make him Austria's cellmate, though, so he might as well share his speculations with the bespectacled man. Or, rather, he might as well explain that he had no idea why they had been put together.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

Austria straightened his glasses, fidgeting uneasily.

"From what I've heard, it seems she's using the rumors she's heard to twist our worst fears against us. If that's the case, this must have something to do with you."

"Why me?" He really didn't want to have this conversation right now. He didn't want to have this conversation at all. He didn't know what to say to Austria, what to do about Austria, and he, quite frankly, simply did not want Austria to be in this cell.

"Because I have had little to no connection to you for a very long time," Austria said primly. "Outside of interacting as the personifications of our nations, that is."

"Then what do you think she heard about me? Because I have no idea what rumors are going around surrounding you and me. I can't help you."

"I don't want you to help me," Austria said, but he sounded ever so slightly uncertain, and Switzerland glanced up to find the taller man fidgeting again, violet eyes wide and worried.

"Then what is it?"

"We…" Austria's fidgeting was getting worse by the minute; had he always fidgeted like this? "We're in this together, like it or not, so I thought it would be a good idea to…to try and…"

"I'd guess she heard that we used to be friends. She doesn't have Hungary so the only person she can use against you is me or Italy. She has plans for him, so she's using me. What do you think?"

"That's…I suppose that's likely enough," Austria said.

Switzerland nodded and looked away, down at the bare floor of the cell.

_"I think this is intended to be used against _me_, not him. He's not a strong person. She'll probably torture him."_

He could pretend he was thinking about it in a completely callous manner, but it really wasn't, and he knew that. Old friend or otherwise, he would still have worried for Austria, who was fussy and almost ridiculously delicate and would most certainly fare badly in prison.

"How did you know Italy was here?" Austria asked suddenly.

"You asked. Latvia said he was probably fine."

"Ah," Austria cleared his throat softly. "That's right."

"Who else is here?"

The Austrian fidgeted, looking down at his tattered clothes as if reluctant to list the other captives, as if the thought of them might hurt him.

"America, Italy, Belarus, and Iceland are here, and faring as well as can be expected. China…is dying. Estonia and Latvia are being confined under odd circumstances - something to do with Panem's feelings for Latvia."

"Feelings? For _Latvia_?"

"From what I've seen, she appears to be somewhat obsessed with him. It's similar to what is rumored to have happened between Russia and Lithuania in their Soviet days."

"They're here," Switzerland said suddenly, remembering. "Russia and Lithuania were with me."

"I see," said Austria, very quiet, as if speaking the words any louder would make the words all the more true. "I wonder…is anyone left alive and free?"

Switzerland had often thought that he might be the last, but then he had met Russia and Lithuania, and if they had hidden for so long, others might have done the same.

"I don't know."

_"All that matters to me is that Liechtenstein is dead. I don't care about anything else. There's no reason to now. I can't help them. So I won't care."_

It was almost cruelly funny, how he could think such things, already knowing that they were untrue. He could not stop himself from caring.

* * *

Lithuania heard Russia's shouts fall silent as he was pushed into the cell, and hoped that the tall man would not cause any trouble, would go quietly and not worry about him. And although he heard weeping in the distance and the occasionally slamming of a cell door, he did not hear any more from Russia.

It was only half light in this cell, and he sat down against the wall and tried to feel something appropriate to the situation, anything besides the awful numbness that he felt now. He could not even make himself feel afraid for Russia and Switzerland, or of the ordeal that doubtless lay ahead of them all.

And then, a voice out of the darkness caused him to feel something, not fear for his friends, but a burst of panic for himself.

"Who is that?"

The voice was weak, tired, disembodied, and Lithuania suppressed a most undignified shriek, trying to think of a logical explanation for the sudden manifestation of a ghost.

"A-ah…"

There was a silence that made him think that the voice was thinking of what to say. Then, weak, hesitant: "Lithuania?"

It was China's voice, and China was, as far as Lithuania was aware, not a ghost.

"Yes. Ch…China?"

"I don't believe it," said China. "I thought you… Never mind, come here and let me…let me be sure I'm not hallucinating. I wouldn't be surprised if I was, now."

Lithuania stood up, hesitantly, and, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, walked toward the back of the cell, where the pale, thin shape of China was now becoming visible.

China was far thinner than he had remembered, thinner and paler and far more tired. The petite nation opened his eyes as Lithuania approached, and smiled faintly.

"If I can see you, you must be real. Or so I must believe. But…I think I saw ghosts before. Never mind that, come and sit down."

Lithuania sat next to China, wondering at the calmness with which the small man greeted him.

"Ah…how did you know I wasn't dead?" he asked, softly, trying to believe that he was imagining the emaciation, the dying look on China's thin features.

"I did not," China said. "But I am…I do not know. I suppose I am too weak to be surprised."

His voice was very hoarse and quiet, and he turned to Lithuania weakly but urgently.

"I am dying," he rasped. "I will probably die tonight. The line between death and life is blurring now, to me. But if you are alive, I am glad. To live is…is to have hope. I told Estonia as much."

Hope and anguish blossomed together in Lithuania's chest, and he fought to keep himself calm, fought to keep from shaking the dying China desperately in an attempt to learn all that had happened.

"Eduard is here? Alive?"

China took several deep breaths, looking as if he was almost afraid to answer.

"Yes…Eduard is here. But he is not well on several counts."

"His mind…"

"Not," China said gently, "as bad as it was rumored to be in the Soviet days. He is fighting. But he is deeply hurt and…I am _so glad_ you have come, Toris."

China began to sob, and although they were cries without tears, for he had no tears to spare, they were sobs both of anguish and of joy.

"He said he could not lose a brother…and now he will have you back. He will know that your blood is not on his hands… I…I am so happy…"

China buried his head in his hands, shaking, sobbing, and Lithuania, almost fooled for an instant into thinking that China was a frightened child, reached out, tried to comfort him.

"Ssh, China, ssh…"

"I am all right, Toris," China said, raising his head, a few stray tears still running down his cheeks. "But I…I am very tired. I am going to fall asleep soon, and I do not expect that I shall wake again. Panem has been starving me since I was brought here, you see, and…she has grown tired of me. I do not want you to be upset."

He was almost too numb to be upset. He _was_ upset, but he also wanted to die as China was going to, and, in an awful and twisted way, he envied China in his demise.

_"I want to die too. I want to stop hurting. I lost my chance last time, so how long now…how long now must I continue to suffer until I get another chance?"_

"It's so unfair," he said, hardly realizing he was speaking. "It's so unfair. You don't even want to die."

"Not," said China slowly, "in the way that you do. I only want to die, now, because I am tired. If I was not so tired, I think…I would still like to live and fight. As I told Eduard…there is still hope that some of you might live."

"You keep talking about Eduard," Lithuania said, a sudden realization striking him. "What about Raivis? He's not…"

It was not possible that little Latvia had died; that would be too cruel even for the awful world that they now existed in. But for an awful moment, Lithuania was paralyzed by the thought.

"Latvia is alive, and…doing well," China said. "He has not been physically harmed, to my knowledge."

There was a hesitant, almost reluctant tone in China's voice, and he stared down at the floor, honeyed eyes regretful and sad.

"Why hasn't she hurt him?" Lithuania asked.

"She is obsessed with him as Russia was obsessed with you, although she manifests it differently. Latvia will not be harmed, although…from what I have heard, his mental state may be deteriorating. He is still holding on admirably; better than everyone else. I do not think you should worry too much for him."

"Panem is obsessed with him," Lithuania whispered, and through his mind flashed a thousand dreadful things that a mad and obsessive woman could do to harm his brother, and not a single way of saving him.

"How? Why…?" He loved Latvia dearly, like a blood brother, but he did not understand the obsessions of psychopaths, did not understand why a girl like Panem or a man like Russia would favor one nation above all others.

"I would explain…" China's voice was very hoarse now, very quiet and pained. "But I have not the voice. You will see Eduard or Latvia soon, they will…they will explain. But I cannot. Not now. I cannot…I cannot live forever, after all. It is time. I am tired."

And Lithuania, who knew well the pain and sorrow of the world, and who surely knew the deep wish to rest, lifted China's frail body, allowing the petite nation to lean against him. China, very weak now, the life almost visibly seeping from his broken body, lay still, pitifully emaciated and small.

Lithuania had a remembrance, as if from far away, of a child's voice singing a lullaby in a language he did not know, of a young voice that had allowed him once to drift away from his agony into the sleep of death. And although that death had not been permanent, he could imagine nothing more peaceful.

He had not lifted his voice in song for so long, but he tried now, and although the song was at first weak and feeble, it began to swell as he continued. Lying against him, China smiled faintly, but said nothing else. And Lithuania's song swelled, and he thought he heard, in the distance, a different tune, a lullaby like his, but in a language strange and yet familiar. Perhaps it was the voice of an angel, soothing the heart of yet another slowly dying nation.

China opened his eyes, looked up at Lithuania, and smiled, although Lithuania's tears were falling hard on his face, although the boy's song was broken now by sobs.

"So it is decided," he said, his voice strangely clear and strong. "Nations may not be permitted to live past the end of the world. Even the oldest and wisest must, in the end, fall to the young and powerful. That is how it must be."

He closed his eyes and did not open them again, nor did he speak any more. And Lithuania's tears fell ever harder, sobs wracking his body, but still China did not pass away, still, Lithuania did not halt in his song.

His voice grew fainter, as China's breaths grew more shallow. And finally, exhausted by the ordeal of the previous night and by the infinitely heavy burden of holding a dying man in his arms, Lithuania fell asleep, still holding China.

When he woke again, China was still, cold, and pale, but Lithuania saw the gentle smile on the dead man's face, and thought that there must be a heaven beyond their agony on earth, for nothing but heaven and a reunion with his lost family could have made China smile so beautifully.


	41. Brother

Chapter Forty-One: Brother

In the night, two different voices shattered the silence of the prison. The first was Belarus's, and Russia, alone in his cell at the end of the corridor, heard her voice and froze, eyes widening.

"Natalya…" he breathed, and although he could not make out her words, he could hear the hysteria in them, could hear that she was very far gone, and it terrified him. The screaming did not cease immediately, but went on seemingly for hours, agonized cries of regret and despair.

The second cries were wails of grief, and he heard the cries and knew that it was Lithuania who cried, and he thought that Lithuania was mourning a great and terrible loss, a loss that could never be undone. The grieving cries shook the prison even more fully than Belarus's mad screams, and Russia hid back in the shadows of his cell, and wondered what agony could cause the two, his sister and his dearest friend, to cry so loudly and with such pain. And although he knew that Lithuania was not being tortured physically - he would have been able to identify the reason for the cries much more easily had that been the case - he knew that the boy had been hurt somehow, and that Lithuania could most certainly not stand much more pain.

"When will it be my turn?" he muttered softly. "What can she do to me?"

He knew already what Panem could do to harm him, but he dared not say it aloud, dared not even _think_ of what she might do to Lithuania, or to Belarus, or even to the other Baltics.

He had seen Estonia for a brief instant, had seen the boy cower back into the shadows as he always did, trying to remain unobserved. And he had seen that Estonia was thin, pale, tired, nothing like the boy he remembered.

This place was worse than his Soviet mansion; it had broken Estonia more than he had, and that was terrifying. He had broken the Baltics, his sisters, and so many of the others in that place. How much more could this place, which was a thousand times worse, break all of them, and him as well?

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, after China was dead, the soldiers came to take away his body. And Panem, alive again, color blossoming in her face once more, came for Lithuania.

He did not wish to go, hesitated and cowered in the corner of the cell until she threw back her head and laughed at him.

"I'm only moving you," she said. "You'll get to see someone you love. Doesn't that make you happy?"

"Someone…that I love?" he whispered, for he, like Russia, had heard the screams in the night and he knew now that Belarus was imprisoned here too, still alive, although China had been killed.

"Yes," Panem said, and it was because of the chance of seeing Belarus or of being reunited with his brothers, or even possibly with Poland, that he followed her, despite the knowledge that she was fully capable of lying to him, that she probably had lied, and was taking him to be subjected to a most awful torment.

But she led him just across the hall and to the right, and opened the door to that cell.

"Have fun," she murmured, with a soft laugh that frightened Lithuania in its dreadful promise. Then she pushed him in and locked the door behind him, leaving him alone.

And at first he thought that it was a cruel trick, that the cell was not inhabited by anyone else, that he was alone. But then something stirred in the darkness, and Lithuania stepped towards the shape, the shape of a small woman clad in tattered pants and a bra and a jacket that, he was certain, had once been America's.

"Belarus?"

She started up as if frightened, and he stepped toward her, only for her to jump back, staring, trembling.

"W-what…?" Her voice was quiet and broken, and it seemed almost ridiculous that such a fragile voice was the same one that had screamed so hysterically the night before.

"Um…it's me. Lithuania. You remember me, don't you?"

He wasn't even sure if she would remember anything now, but apparently she did, because her face suddenly contorted with fear and pain, her eyes round and terrified.

"You're not real, you can't be real, I _killed you_…"

"No, you didn't," he said gently, softly, as if he were talking to an animal or a frightened child. (She was partially both, was his agonized thought, and not very much like the woman he had loved, anymore.)

"I killed you!" Belarus shrieked. "Twice!"

"I didn't die that time," he said. "Natalya, remember, you stabbed me, but…"

"Stop!" she shrieked, and he fell silent, standing paralyzed in the middle of the prison cell, watching her as she began to pace, tearing at her hair as if on the brink of hysteria.

"You're dead," she gasped, staring blankly ahead of her as she paced, hands gripping her hair ever tighter. "Panem killed you."

"No, she didn't," Lithuania protested. "Belarus, please believe me, I am perfectly alive."

"She said she killed you!" Belarus wailed. "Panem said she killed you, and _Alfred_ said…!"

"What did Alfred say?" Lithuania asked softly, as Belarus paused midstride.

"I killed you!" she cried again. "I stabbed your ghost and you died! Alfred said that it was the _only way_…!"

She brought her hands up to her eyes, covering them with the clawed fingers and peeking at him through the cracks, her gaze seeming even more deranged now that he could not fully see her expression.

"You're dead," she said again. "I'm _sure_ I stabbed you. Unless…"

Her hands fell to her sides, and she stared at him, certainly more a wild animal than a girl.

"Can you not rest?" she asked.

"I don't…"

"I'm sorry!" Belarus shrieked. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

She brought her hands back up, raked long fingernails across her face, hard. She missed her eyes that time, but blood welled up in the wounds, and Lithuania ran forward, pinned her hands to her sides and pushed her against the wall, trying to hold her still as she struggled hysterically.

"Natalya, stop! Stop! Tell me what's wrong!"

"I'm sorry!" she wailed again, and it was those same two words that she had screamed in the dead of night, and he did not understand why it was that she continued apologizing.

"Are you apologizing to _me_?" he asked, and she paused, dark eyes filling with tears of pain and hysteria.

"I killed you," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

"But I'm _not dead_…"

"Don't lie! Toris wouldn't lie to me!"

He wasn't lying, but he could not convince her of it, and every time he tried, she became more hysterical.

"All right," he whispered. "I'm dead. But it wasn't you who killed me, and I don't blame you. So you don't have to apologize."

He released his grip on Belarus, and she fell to her knees, shaking.

"A-are you not going to punish me?" she asked.

"No…" He searched his mind for something he could say, something that would convince her that, although he was dead in her mind, he was not an avenging spirit.

"I'm…ah…here to take care of you. Like a guardian."

"Like an angel?"

"Yes, like an angel. But I _am_ the real Toris, I'm just…dead, I suppose. I can't save you from here, but I…I'm supposed to be here for you, so you won't be too sad."

It sounded awfully unconvincing to him, but Belarus seemed to think it was a perfectly sensible idea. The girl looked up at him, calmer now. Then, suddenly, her face crumpled, and she began to sob desperately, like a child.

"Natalya…"

He took her in his arms, and for the first time in years, she did not protest, did not pull away, but leaned against him and sobbed, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over again. And he thought that it would do no good to try to stop her, for she seemed intent on apologizing for some unknown crime against him. So he held her still until she quieted, and at some point, he realized that he had been crying too.

He had not been able to cry without being in physical pain since before the collapse of the Soviet Union.

* * *

Estonia woke up to the unmistakable smell of breakfast, and found Latvia sitting next to him on the bed, watching him sorrowfully.

"There's food," the small boy said quietly, and Estonia turned his face away.

"He is dead then," he whispered, and he did not quite feel the agony of it yet, he had already cried so much in the last days before China's death.

"He would have died in his sleep, probably," Latvia said. "It would have been really peaceful at the end. I think so anyways. I don't feel like he suffered much in the end. I think something comforted him."

"How do you know that?" Estonia asked, his own voice sounding strangely raspy.

Latvia shrugged. "I just know. But come on, Eddy, you need to eat. China wouldn't want you to die."

The boy jumped up, and Estonia lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, and tried to pretend not to notice when Latvia brought him his food, turned away when the boy tried to hold a glass of water to his lips.

"Eduard. Please don't do that." Latvia's voice, usually so childishly strong, was strangely adult, and yet, fragile. Estonia turned back to look at the boy, and saw Latvia setting the food on his own bed, then turning back, hands shaking.

"I can't handle it, Eddy," he said. "And I wouldn't tell you that, but I _can't lose you_, okay? I'll probably die if something happens to you. So you can't just give up because China's dead. That's not what he would want, and that's not what Toris would want, and if you loved them so much, you should do what they would have wanted instead of being so selfish all the time!"

"Selfish?" Estonia echoed, sitting up. Latvia's face went white, and he took a step back, covering his mouth with his hands.

"Please," he said, "if you're going to give up on life then I'll call you selfish over and over until you get so mad you kill me. But I'm not going to let you die. If you die…there'll be no reason for Panem to let me out! I'll be trapped in here forever! She'll just leave me in here, I'm so sure, I thought about it, and the reason she's letting us feed the prisoners is to hurt _them_ and _you_, not me. I'm just the goddamn useless possession who happens to get the same 'privileges' you do, but that'll change when you're not around anymore!"

Latvia paused, breathing hard, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I've been thinking about it _all night_. I was thinking; if China doesn't die soon then Eddy might end up dying too. I just _kept on thinking it,_ Eddy, and it hurts way too much, so you can't die, okay? Please don't. If you're still the Eddy who wanted to save me and Toris when we lived with Mr. Russia, the Eddy that was crazy but wanted to save us because he loved us, then please, please, please…don't die. If you die I'll…I'll…"

The boy looked so frustrated, so angry, utterly unlike himself, and Estonia had to wonder if it was the frequent meetings with Panem that were wearing him down so deeply, had to wonder if Latvia, too, was beginning to get his own mental demons.

"I won't die, Lati," he said, sitting up. "Until Panem kills me, that is."

Latvia bit his lip.

"Don't die," he whispered childishly. "Even if she tortures you, please don't die."

"I'll try."

He didn't know how he could possibly save himself from Panem, not when she held sway and power over them all, but he sat next to Latvia and let the little boy feed him, because that seemed to comfort and distract Latvia. The small boy's face began to look less drawn and anxious, once again taking on a serene, childish look, although flashes of deep worry would sometimes pass across his face.

"Raivis," Estonia said, "what is it?"

"Panem is going to start torturing everyone again," Latvia said. "We have had a reprieve of sorts since England's death - oh, except you, _Eddy, I'm sorry_ \- but now that reprieve is at an end, and everyone is going to suffer again. And Mr. Austria, Mr. Switzerland, and Italy haven't been tortured yet…"

"Not Russia, either," Estonia said, and Latvia's face paled.

"Russia? Mr. Russia's here?"

"They brought him in yesterday, with Switzerland." He did not mention the hallucination of Lithuania that he had seen. It had surely not been real.

"And you'll be the one to bring him his breakfast, Eduard," said Panem's voice from the doorway.

"Don't do that," Latvia said, his head lowered. "He hates Russia more than any of the rest of us. They'll kill each other."

"My bet's on Russia," Panem said. "Eduard's useless to me anyways, you know, Raivis. He hasn't got long to live. We discussed this, didn't we?"

And _then_ Estonia understood, understood that Panem had told Latvia that he was to die soon and _that_ was the reason for Latvia's sudden, pained outburst.

"Raivis, let's go," he said, and he grabbed the little boy's hand and pushed past Panem, who ruffled Latvia's hair as they passed, a mocking smile on her face.

"You really believe running away can solve your problems? Raivis, are you going to let him run away when you know it's pointless?"

"Don't listen to her," Estonia growled. "She's toying with you. She likes torturing me, so she won't…she won't kill me yet. Don't listen to her."

"She doesn't lie about that stuff," Latvia whispered, and Estonia turned to the boy, and, because it was what Lithuania would have done, he pulled Latvia close and held him there.

"And even if she doesn't, what is her definition of soon? Today? Next month? Next year? We don't know, Raivis. We are fated to die, all of us, so…we can't…we can't dwell on it."

He was lying, and Latvia knew he was lying, when he said that they could not think of death. For although it was not always his own death he thought of, death was often in his mind, and would, doubtless, be in his mind forever. But the small boy smiled, as if pretending to be reassured, and they continued on together.

Estonia knew where Russia's cell was, knew that he would have to go there at some point, but he did not want to go, did not want to see Russia or confront the painful memories that would, doubtless, be triggered if he went in there.

He went to America first, then to Italy, and if they spoke to him, he did not hear. For between his fear of Russia and thoughts of his own inevitable and hastening demise, it was difficult for him to keep the voices in his mind from overwhelming him entirely.

And then came a task that ought not to have been dreadful, would not have been dreadful if he had been the kind of person who, like Lithuania and Latvia, was able to forgive. But he had not forgiven Russia, and his impulse was to force the man to starve, alone, without any human companionship. China's torture had been starvation, and he had done nothing wrong in Estonia's eyes. But Russia, Russia deserved to die most painfully and brutally.

And it was the thought that dehydration was a quick death, a death that would not allow Panem to torment Russia with the horrors of this prison, that finally caused Estonia to walk down the corridor past the other cells, past China's empty cell, to Russia's. All this time, Latvia had not come out of Belarus's cell, but he barely noticed it, he was so focused on getting this distasteful task out of his way.

He entered the cell, and found that Russia was sitting in the corner, not even looking up when he came in.

"Here's your food," he said coldly, and Russia looked up, wide violet eyes meeting Estonia's.

"Eduard…"

"I don't…" He choked, swallowed, tried to speak again. "I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm sorry," Russia said. And then, quietly, "You look so hurt. Worse than back then."

"I imagine the events of 'back then', as you're calling it, rather hastened the results of Panem's torture," Estonia said, and he decided he might as well let his voices tell him what to say. Their words worked the desired effect on Russia, made him hurt, and Estonia wanted him to hurt.

Russia looked away, and Estonia could see the anguish in his eyes, and maybe he was being cruel, but he had been cruel for decades, then. This was not the first time that Russia had apologized, not the first time that Estonia had refused the apology.

"I can't…forgive you, Russia," he said. "I should, but I can't."

For he and Russia were just the same, two children broken and tormented in a cage until they lost the very thing that made them human. For humanity, Estonia thought, was defined by one's ability to distinguish right and wrong, and so neither he nor Russia nor Panem were human at all, in his eyes. They were all demons, and whether or not their demonic nature had made them torment others, whether or not he understood that pain, he could not forgive.

He could not forgive, because forgiving Russia would mean letting go of his hatred, and he could not stop hating. He had managed it with the others, because they had meant well, and what they had done had, in a roundabout way, led to the partial recovery of his soul.

Russia had done nothing but break him so completely that even decades of safety and love could not fix him. Russia had done nothing but cause Lithuania to scream and cry and hurt himself. Russia had done nothing but turn Latvia into an adult when he was supposed to be nothing but a child. Russia had hurt Ukraine, made her shake and cry; Russia had, in tearing Lithuania apart, torn Belarus apart, and in that process, had hurt Lithuania even more.

Russia did not deserve to live.

"I don't forgive you," he said.

"I don't deserve to be forgiven," Russia said, very quietly, and although he was staring at the floor, Estonia could tell that he was crying.

And he would have explained the demon thing, explained that he, Estonia, did not deserve to be forgiven either, and could never be forgiven.

But then Latvia came bursting through the door, screaming his name and one other, and Estonia forgot all about Russia.

* * *

There were five plates on Latvia's counter, and he did not know where the fifth one was supposed to go, if Estonia was feeding Russia. But he took the first plate and started down the hallway to Belarus's cell, which was strangely quiet when he entered.

"Hello?" he called softly, pushing open the door. "Miss Belarus?"

And then he realized that there were two figures there, one cradling the other in his arms, and he stopped dead and stared, because the silhouette had long hair and tattered green clothes, but surely that couldn't be right, surely it couldn't be…

Belarus straightened, and she looked almost, though not quite, peaceful. It was almost frightening, in a way, but it was beautiful too, to see her so happy.

"What is it?" she asked. "Can you see him too?"

The silhouette, who, now that Latvia's eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the cell, was no longer a silhouette, but a boy with long brown hair and scarred wrists and a broken smile, spoke.

"Raivis, it's me."

"Toris!" The name tore from his throat, as much a cry of anguish as it was a shout of joy. He did not know how to feel, but he wanted at once to run away and to embrace his brother. And the urge to let Lithuania hold him overcame his small body, and he ran to the older boy, crumpled to his knees, let Lithuania embrace him and almost forgot the pain and suffering of this prison, the pain and suffering that Lithuania would doubtless be made to endure.

"Toris, Toris," he whispered, and he began to cry, to really cry as he could not in front of Estonia, who could not be strong when everyone else was weak. But Lithuania was strong in a strange way, a way that let others cry even when he himself would have liked to break down. Lithuania took his strength from soothing others' agony.

"You're alive," he said, and then he was reminded that Panem would soon kill Estonia, and he began to sob again, his eyes tightly shut, small, shaking hands clutching at his brother.

"Raivis, don't cry…"

"I can't help it. I've always been a crybaby, and I _can't_ cry in front of Eddy, and when I cry in front of Panem she teases me and pulls my hair, so I c-can't…"

"Ssh, ssh," Lithuania said soothingly, and Latvia felt a desperate urge to make him understand, to explain Panem's obsession to the one person who might possibly understand what it felt like to be someone else's possession.

"No, you don't understand, she…"

"China told me enough," Lithuania said. "I'm sorry. If it wasn't for my influence, then…"

"Stop blaming yourself already," Latvia whispered fiercely through his tears, and Lithuania fell silent, and began stroking Latvia's hair. And once the gesture would have comforted him, would have made him feel safer, but Panem had ruined it and he could not enjoy the feeling now.

"Please don't pet my hair," he said, very quietly. "Panem does that."

Lithuania's hand froze, and then moved away. "I'm sorry, Raivis."

He should not have told Lithuania anything about Panem. The defeat in the older boy's voice was awful.

"Are you all right, physically?" Lithuania asked. "China said she hadn't harmed you."

"No, she hasn't, she wouldn't," Latvia said. "But Eddy, Eddy's not okay, he…"

He paused, fidgeting, resisting the urge to run from the cell before he could say anything else to hurt Lithuania. He looked up, saw sorrow in his brother's dull green eyes, but also saw agony and acceptance intertwined.

"What happened to Eduard, Raivis?"

"He…he thinks he's a demon." How could he possibly begin to explain all the things that had happened to Estonia; how could he say it in a way that would not permanently hurt Lithuania?

"He'll…he'll get like he was in Mr. Russia's house, sometimes, but mostly he's just so sad and hurt…and Panem hurts him a lot and it's really awful, but at least he isn't _dead_…"

And then it struck him, as if like lightning from the heavens, that Estonia did not know that Lithuania had been returned to them.

"I've gotta tell him," he whispered, and he wrenched himself from Lithuania's grasp and ran from the cell, crying out for Estonia.

He found the older boy in Russia's cell, staring pitilessly at the cowering Russian, and he shouted that it was Lithuania, Lithuania was alive, and Estonia turned away from Russia and ran down the corridor, leaving Latvia to shut the door.

"Was he being mean to you?" he asked Russia, and the tall man hesitated, then shook his head.

"No. He has a right to his hatred."

"I don't hate you, Mr. Russia," Latvia said, and he really thought for a moment that Russia was going to cry.

"You should, little Latvia. But thank you. I…I am grateful for that."

He nodded, and then, because Estonia was going to need some time with Lithuania, and because he did not want to see both his brothers cry, he turned and locked the cell, and went to get Iceland his food.

* * *

He was so sure that he was going to wake up, that this was some kind of cruel trick or awful dream, a dream where Lithuania would shout at him and blame him for his agony. But when he entered Belarus's cell, he found Lithuania standing there, pale and thin with tears running down his face, but alive and smiling.

"Toris," he breathed, and the other boy, always so kind, held out his arms, and Estonia went to him, let himself go limp, and, finally, to cry as he had so desperately needed to.

"It's too much," he sobbed. "It's too much! China just died, and now you're here… I can't, can't lose anyone like that again, not a third time… I'm so sorry, Toris, I tried really hard but I'm still not strong enough…"

"It's all right, Eduard," Lithuania said, and Estonia could tell from the way Lithuania's voice trembled that his brother was crying again. They always cried, and they were always afraid, a trio of brothers formed from tears and agony and desperate bravery and fear. They were the Baltics and the Baltics were always afraid, although they were, each of them, made up of far more than their fear. Lithuania and Latvia were brave, strong, beautiful angels, and he was a demon with twisted voices in his mind.

"It's okay, you did your best, and your best is always good enough."

It wasn't nearly good enough; if it were good enough, he wouldn't be sobbing now. He wouldn't be whispering "I can't do this, I can't" over and over again. But then, Lithuania's idea of good enough gave everyone a lot of freedom. Except himself, of course. And Estonia wondered if that was the problem with them, if the reason that they, the former nations known as the Baltics, always ended up frightened and taken advantage of, was because they - or, at least, Lithuania and Latvia - gave everyone else entirely too much grace. Perhaps they would have done better to let themselves make mistakes, and only correct the mistakes of others, instead of blaming themselves for so much.

But that did not matter now. Here, at the end of the world, nothing mattered except the pain.

* * *

**Well, I for one have been waiting a while for this chapter, so I hope you all enjoyed it! **

**I am not entirely sure there will be an update next week, because I do not HAVE another chapter, and because I am doing Camp NaNoWriMo and really don't want to stop working on my current project. I might decide to get the next chapter written, though, so we shall see. **


	42. If We Could Be Together

**I apologize in advance for how stupidly long this chapter is. The next one will probably be shorter. xD**

**Anyway, I DID end up updating, so yay! Although I am a little early; I'm going out of town tomorrow, just for the day, so I thought I'd go ahead and update today, since I won't have Wifi at the competition. (I'd say wish me luck, but I want to lose, so wish my little sister and my friends luck instead. xDD)**

**With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this (stupidly long) chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two: If We Could Be Together

There were three less faces on the broadcast that night. There were, Prussia thought, only four nations left free in the entire city. Maybe there had been a mistake; maybe there were more hiding somewhere. But he had seen, as if by chance, a video broadcast in the square, reminding the citizens that there were yet four 'rebels' at large, and had pulled up his hood and ducked away quickly, before anyone could recognize him, not waiting to see if there might have been a mistake.

His pale hair made nighttime more dangerous than the day, but then, with such pale hair, every moment was dangerous unless he kept his hood up, and even that made him look suspicious. He kept to the back alleys, and he thought that other nations would have done the same.

He, Spain, South Italy, and Canada were the last free nations in all of Panem, according to the broadcast. And still Prussia had not found any of them, although he had looked when he felt he could, when the streets were quiet and safe.

He had stayed in one particular alley since the broadcast, for when they showed the broadcasts it meant a nation had been caught, and he would have to wait a while until the citizens, reminded of the existence of the nations, had stopped hunting for them.

But now he was hungry, and this alleyway led nowhere, so there was no chance of him finding food there. Cautiously, Prussia stepped out from the darkened alley into the bright streets, and when he saw that there were no soldiers present, he began to walk, confidently and quickly, careful to keep in the shadows as much as possible.

There were few people out at night, now, after the collapse of the world, and those who were out avoided him. He must have looked odd to them, a ragged man with bloodshot eyes striding along as if he owned the world.

He might have ruled the world, if he had been half as smart as the girl, but then, even girls had the ability to outmatch him sometimes. He supposed Panem, being immortal, would be able to beat him in a fight, too.

He must not have been as hungry as he'd thought, for he passed by several places where he knew he could have obtained a meal without stopping.

_"Not that trash is much of a meal. But hey, I'll take what I can get. Not right now, though."_

There was no one on the street now. It was eerily quiet, and Prussia glanced around nervously, searching for soldiers, for some sign of disturbance.

And the only sound he heard was quiet crying from somewhere close by. The sobs sounded like a child's, and, curious, he tried to follow the sound, to see where they might lead.

_"I wonder if Panem would extend a pardon if I returned a kid to its parents,"_ he thought, shaking his head at his own not-particularly-humorous thought.

"Hey," he called softly, more aware of the idea that soldiers might hear him than of the thought that the kid would be less frightened if he kept his voice low, "what's the matter?"

And the sobbing _stopped_, just ahead of him, coupled with a quiet, frightened gasp, and he thought then that it wasn't a kid crying at all, but he could not be sure, and so he stepped closer. He wasn't going to let himself hope, but…

But a boy was sitting on the cold concrete in the shadows of an alley, legs tucked up to his chest, wide-eyed behind thick glasses, and even in the dark Prussia could see the indigo of the boy's eyes and knew that no human had eyes that color.

"You're…" He knew the name, really he did; he'd talked to the kid a few times, but he couldn't remember…

"Francis's kid," was what he came up with, and _that_ set the kid off crying again.

He was not good with children. Including his own brother, he thought ruefully, but then, Germany hadn't been a normal kid either, so maybe that was all right.

"Hey, kid, calm down," he said, crouching down awkwardly, reaching out uncertainly only to let his hand hover in front of the boy, not certain that touching him wouldn't cause him to crumble away. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I know," the kid's voice was muffled in his sleeves, hard to hear. A pause, and he raised his head a little, meeting Prussia's eyes. "And my name is Canada. You're Prussia, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's me. Are you on your own?"

"I am now." Canada sounded more composed now, calmer, as if he'd forcibly pulled himself together, although a tremor still remained in his quiet voice. "I was with France, but h-he's…"

Of course France was dead. How long ago, and how brutally he'd been killed, and if Canada had seen him die, Prussia didn't know. But France, he thought, would not have let himself be imprisoned. Courageous the Frenchman might not have been, but he was smart enough to come to the conclusion Prussia had denied to himself - namely, that they were better off dead than being hunted and tortured by Panem.

"My brother's dead too," he said to Canada.

_"And it's not fair; he didn't deserve it and he'd been a nation way less time than I had, so why…?"_

Canada's hand was cold and delicate, and Prussia was almost astonished that the boy could grip his hand so strongly despite his apparent physical weakness.

"I'm sorry," Canada said.

"Yeah. About France, too. He was a good guy."

Canada nodded, staring at the ground, but holding Prussia's hand like a lifeline. Maybe he wasn't the only one convinced that if he let go, the other nation would crumble away.

"I've got a place in one of the alleys," Prussia said awkwardly. "It's…it's not really nice or anything, but it's shelter, and it's right next to a bakery or something, so it's warm… I mean, if you'd rather be alone, I get it, but you can come with me if you want."

"Papa told me to find a nation who could take care of me," Canada said suddenly, looking up at Prussia. "Can you do that?"

_"Probably not. I'm not good at raising kids. I guess I did okay with Ludwig, but…"_

"I don't know. But at least you won't be by yourself."

Canada nodded.

"Then, I'll come."

"Good kid," Prussia said, ruffling the boy's hair awkwardly. "Come on, it's not far."

He stood up, turned away and began walking out of the alleyway. Canada's hand, still clutching his, halted him for an instant, but then the boy pulled himself up and, finally, with a shy, uncertain blush, pulled his hand away from Prussia's. He did not crumble away as Prussia had feared, but paused and waited for Prussia to start moving again.

"Let's go," Prussia said, and he led Canada away down the silent, dark streets, until they came to the alley he had called his home since the world's collapse. It was in a somewhat less traveled area of town, and he had chosen it not only for that, but because of the heat from the bakery ovens on the other side of the wall.

"I've got some blankets and things," he said, handing one to Canada. "It's not much, but…you know."

The boy nodded, accepting the threadbare blanket from Prussia and wrapping it around him. "It's very nice, thank you."

"Yeah," Prussia said. "Now get some sleep; I want to be gone before morning. This part of town gets patrolled early in the morning, so we'll have to wander around a little. And we might not be able to stay the night here forever, either."

Canada nodded, and then lay down, curling into a ball with the blanket wrapped around him. Wordlessly, Prussia rolled up another blanket and pushed it to Canada, who put it under his head as a pillow. Then, satisfied, Prussia turned and went to sit at the end of the alley, where he would be between Canada and any soldiers who might be hunting them.

_"I don't know if I can take care of him,"_ he thought, glancing at the sleeping boy. _"But if that's what Francis wanted, I guess I can try. Nothing else to do. And hey, he definitely needs somebody. The soldiers would have found him, crying the way he was. Poor kid. I wonder if everybody else has lost their siblings now, too?"_

* * *

She came for Austria after Latvia came, and Latvia must not have known she was going to do it, Switzerland thought, or else he had forgotten in his joy at seeing Lithuania. He was glad, in a way, that he had not told Latvia about Lithuania earlier, so that he could see the boy's joy now.

But Latvia was gone now, and Panem had come without warning, not for him but for Austria, who was scared and shaking and trying not to show it, to go with dignity.

Apparently, it was hard to regain your dignity in the face of unbearable fear. Switzerland had not known that before, but he saw it clearly now. He'd thought of Austria, all these years, as the dignified adult he appeared to have become, and not as the weak child he had been when they were friends.

But now he saw Austria as that child again, and he stood up when Panem called Austria, and planted himself firmly between the dark-haired man and the petite girl.

"Where are you taking him?" he asked, and if it had been Liechtenstein he would have screamed 'take me instead, not her, take me instead', and not cared what Panem thought of him. As it was, he did not, although he rather wanted to, glancing back at Austria, whose violet eyes had gone wide behind his glasses, who was clearly panicked and terrified.

"Now now," Panem said. "That would be telling. And anyway, Basch, you're not invited. So step aside and let Roderich come along with me."

"Don't touch him," he said, and that was the closest he got to 'take me instead', although what he wanted most at that moment was for her to hurt him, because pain apparently helped Lithuania cope, somehow, and maybe, just maybe, if he was in pain he would understand why Lithuania was addicted to the feeling.

And before he could shove his pride aside and demand that she take him instead, Austria stood up, dignity restored, a fragile mask to hide an almost paralyzing terror. Switzerland knew him - had once known him - well enough to see his terror even behind that mask.

"It's fine, Basch." Austria licked his lips, swallowed, nervous musician's hands shaking. "I'll be fine. I don't need you to rescue me this time."

He thought that Austria _did_ need to be rescued, but maybe that was only because he, standing on a street corner in the pouring rain and coming to terms with his sister's death, had thought that he could find another child to protect, a child who would not be what Heidi had been to him, but who could still be someone he could protect, a reason to live. And he knew Austria had needed him once, and he needed to save someone now. Perhaps that was the only reason he thought that Austria needed a savior.

But trying to save Austria would, if he knew Panem, and he thought he did, only ensure that Austria was hurt more, and so he was powerless to do anything at all.

"Will you be all right?" he asked, honestly wanting to know, wanting to be sure, although Austria had just said he would be. If Austria asked, he would fight to the death to try and stop Panem from torturing him. But he did not think that was what the other man wanted from him.

"I, I," Austria licked his lips again. "I'll be all right."

"I'll be here when you come back," he said. "Whatever happens, I'll be here."

Austria nodded, and then, his voice tight, he repeated: "I'll be all right" one last time, as if he was trying to reassure himself.

Switzerland was not reassured, but he stood back and let Austria leave with Panem. It was not as if he could have stopped the girl. She did what she wanted, and they, all of them, even the bravest (and he was certainly not the bravest, if he had let his sister die), could not standing against her in her wrath.

Not ten minutes later, he heard the first scream. And he didn't have a weak stomach, not at all, but he felt sick now, as he had once felt horrified and sick to see a little girl nation weak and dying in the rain. That time he had rescued her. Now she was dead and someone else was being tortured.

Austria sounded terrified, and, more than that, he sounded as if his very soul was being tortured. And Switzerland had seen awful things in his life, but this, the thought that someone he cared about was being tortured just down the corridor, was utterly sickening and he sank down against the cell wall, utterly, painfully aware that he was being pathetic, but unable to stop it. His stomach knotted with sickness and worry, and the traitorous thought _"at least it's not Heidi"_, rose unbidden in his mind, making him feel worse.

Any other man would have covered his ears to block out the screaming, but he could not do that, because if he did, he would not know when Austria was coming back, and if he did not know that, he could not prepare himself to help.

Austria screamed for Hungary and also for him, but mostly he screamed for Panem to stop, and Switzerland waited and waited and prayed that Panem would stop before she killed him. Even Belarus's shrieks in the night could not match Austria's screams.

And all at once the screams died away. It was over. And Switzerland waited, waited, praying that she had not killed Austria, praying even as he tried to think of the last time he had bothered to pray at all. He was not even sure he was praying to any particular God, but he was praying to something, that much was certain.

He heard the crying even before the cell door was thrust open, and stood up and was there to steady Austria as Panem pushed him into the cell. The Austrian's eyes were wild, frightened, and he clung to Switzerland like a child and sobbed, hiding his face from Panem, who stood in the doorway, smirking.

"I've never met someone so easy to break," she announced, and Switzerland wanted to tear her apart.

"What did you do?" he hissed, and she laughed.

"I'm sure you can figure that out yourself."

And then she was gone, leaving him with Austria, who, it appeared, could not stop crying.

"Roderich," he said, trying to discern exactly what was wrong with Austria, and failing. "Roderich, stop…"

He did not know - had never known - how to comfort a crying child. He had always been bad at that. Saving them, that he had once been able to do, but to comfort someone was another matter altogether.

"What did she do?" he asked, quietly, and Austria's wails grew louder, and he appeared to give up even the faintest semblance of dignity, sinking to the floor and taking Switzerland with him. He remembered what Liechtenstein used to do, how she would rub circles into his back when he was anxious, and he tried doing that for Austria, and it seemed to work after awhile, as the man's sobs gradually died away.

When Austria finally pulled away, Switzerland did not dare to ask what had happened. Austria seemed to be collapsing in on himself, curled up, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

"Roderich." He didn't know what else he was supposed to do but try to ask what had happened; he couldn't help if he didn't know what Panem had done to Austria.

"Please," Austria whispered, "say you can kill me."

"Kill you?" This was ridiculous. Certainly, _he_ wanted to die, but he had nothing left to live for. Austria, who was proud and dignified and had his music to live for, had no excuse for saying he wished to die.

Then Austria raised his right hand, or what was left of his right hand - it was hard to recognize anymore, Switzerland realized with a shock, mangled and broken, at least one finger missing.

"She's going to do it again tomorrow." His voice broke twice, but he seemed to be trying to remain composed, struggling, struggling...

And then the image shattered.

"I _can't_, Basch, I can't, I can't, _I can't…_"

"Listen!" His voice came out louder than he'd meant it to, and Austria jumped. "Listen, Roderich. Keep it together, you're going to be fine."

"You don't understand," Austria whispered, and then he tucked his knees up tighter against his chest and started to shake again. "You don't _understand_…"

"Well, I can't understand if you don't explain," Switzerland muttered.

"I can never-" Austria sobbed, the break in his voice worse than before, "I can never play again, Basch."

For a moment, he still didn't understand and he almost shouted 'Play what? You're not making sense, Roderich, how am I supposed to help if you make no sense?'.

And then everything made horrible sense, because he remembered that he had just been thinking that Austria had his music to keep him sane, and he realized that Austria was saying he could never play the piano or anything else again, because his hand would not heal, and in that moment he could have murdered Panem, could have ripped her limb from limb not just for Liechtenstein, but for Austria too.

But he couldn't do that, and Austria was sobbing again, so he went and tried rubbing circles in Austria's back again, because it had worked before and there was no reason it should not work again.

"It'll be all right," he said, although they both knew it would not be.

_"We're never getting out of here anyway, Roderich. You wouldn't live to play the piano again no matter what she did. Don't you understand that?"_

He wondered if music was Austria's reason to live. He wondered if losing his ability to make music made Austria want to die like losing Liechtenstein made him want to die.

He wondered if he was a bad person for thinking that losing one's ability to play the piano was nothing compared to the pain of losing one's sister.

* * *

Lithuania cried for a long time after Latvia and Estonia left, and when he stopped crying he saw that Belarus was watching him cautiously, uncertainly, as if afraid. Smiling a little, in what he hoped was a calming way, he held out a hand to her.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm better now."

She came to him willingly - he was still not used to it, would probably never be used to it - and sat down next to him.

"I'm tired," she whispered, and he nodded.

"Me too. You should rest."

"Do angels have to rest?" Belarus asked, and he did not know, so he shrugged.

"I suppose, sometimes."

She seemed satisfied with this answer, and she leaned against him, more peaceful than he could ever remembering seeing her, and certainly far more peaceful than when he had found her earlier. He wondered how long she had been like that, and if she would revert back to that hysteria if he was taken away. He hoped not. He hoped that he had saved her, and that she could remain saved.

And speaking of saviors, there were his brothers to consider. A lot, it appeared, had happened to them, and he had not been there to help, not at all. Estonia was insane, that much was certain, but he seemed to be holding up far better than Lithuania could have expected or hoped. For Estonia, despite his efforts to be the strong one, always broke down and cried, always tried so hard, and yet lost all rationality at the end. And yet, he seemed to be holding onto his sanity fairly well, despite the crushing circumstances.

It was Latvia whom Lithuania could not get out of his head, Latvia whom he thought about now.

Latvia had said that Panem petted him and treated him like her possession, and that was very much like Russia, and yet not like, because Russia had hurt the object of his obsession. The scars on his back could attest to that. So Panem was somewhat different from Russia, or rather, her insanity was different from Russia's. She had not physically harmed Latvia. She had, however, made it clear that she had power over him, and had apparently traumatized him _somehow_, if he could no longer even have his hair touched without being reminded of her.

He could only imagine what she could have done to him. If it was not physical, Latvia might not realize that she _had_ done it. But then, Latvia seemed to have matured even further in his absence. There was a sad darkness in the boy's eyes, a maturity that, Lithuania was sure, had not been there before.

He needed to know more of what had happened to the boys, if he was going to help them. Not that he could save them, really, not with Panem constantly exerting her will over them all. But perhaps he could help, and he turned to Belarus, hoping that she could help him to help Latvia and Estonia.

"Natalya," he said, "how are the boys? Raivis? Eduard? How are they really? What…what has happened to them since you came?"

She blinked, then looked down as if reluctant to answer.

"Estonia is not well," she said.

"I know that," he snapped, and then looked down himself, sighing.

"I'm sorry, Natalya," he murmured. "I just…I want to know what happened, and they won't tell me."

"Well, Panem likes Latvia," Belarus said. "She pets him and calls him hers. It reminds me of Russia, with you, when you were alive."

_"'When I was alive',"_ he thought, remembering Russia's mansion and wondering if he had truly been alive even then.

"Is she cruel to him?" he asked.

"In a way," Belarus said. "She torments him a lot. She torments all of us a lot."

"I know," Lithuania said. "Ah…did you know Russia is here now?"

Belarus started, dark eyes widening.

"He is?"

Lithuania nodded.

"He came when I did. Switzerland is also here."

Belarus drew her knees up to her chest, hair falling in her eyes, her face thoughtful and grave.

"Natalya?"

"Russia will not do well here," she said. "It is cruel here. It will make him regret his existence."

"I think he already regrets that," Lithuania said softly. "In fact, I'm sure of it. He's already sorry, Natalya."

"So am I," she said. "I wish I had never come into existence."

"Well, I don't wish that," he said. "I'm glad you're alive."

She looked up through the curtain of silver-blonde hair, and smiled faintly. And although there were doomed, although they both knew they were doomed, although they both knew they would never see the sun again, Lithuania felt a slight bit of sunlight return to his body, if only for an instant.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. "Even if you're not alive, I'm glad you're here."

He had never thought that he would live to hear her say such a thing again. It was possibly the most wonderful thing he had heard in a hundred years. She was glad he was there.

And although he knew they would suffer, knew that people were suffering all around him, and that they would all suffer far more before this was over, although he knew that they would probably all die, he was glad that he was there, if only so that he could comfort Belarus.

After all, the only thing he had ever been good for was comforting others, although he had failed at even that. But in this place, with Belarus the way she was, perhaps even his mere presence could help.

It might have been a foolish, ridiculous hope, but he held onto it desperately, as if that shred of hope could save them.

* * *

"Rai." Estonia was crying again. "Rai, what are we going to _do_?"

He fidgeted uncertainly, because he knew they could do nothing and he knew that Estonia also knew that, and he did not understand why Estonia would ask this as if there was something they could do to fix what had transpired, and what would yet transpire before all was through.

"I think we should just, just try to be happy for Toris," he said.

"Happy?" Estonia sat up, staring at him, confusion and pain meeting in his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"He has Miss Belarus," Latvia said. "It's, it's what he wants, Eddy. It's what he's wanted all this time, you know that. He has her there with him. That will make him happy. I mean, it won't…it won't fix him, but it will make it bearable, I hope. I…w-we just have to hope, Eddy, that if he dies it will be soon. And we have to, to remember that dying is what he wants…"

"How is that going to make it better, Raivis?"

"It's not," he mumbled, defeated. "I don't know what to do, Ed. I'm just a little kid, remember? I don't know what to do at all."

"Well, we could always torture someone," said Panem from the doorway. "That always boosts my spirits."

"Why don't you torture yourself?" Estonia spat. "No one else finds torture calming!"

"Don't they?" Panem asked. "I would never have guessed from your actions, Eduard."

Estonia's fists clenched, his teeth ground together, and Latvia jumped off of his bed and went to Panem.

"Did you want me?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, I did," she said. "Come walk with me, Raivis."

So he left Estonia alone to mourn China and reconcile himself to what would become of them, and most importantly to Lithuania, who was, in a way, Estonia's whole world. Latvia had learned long ago that Estonia wanted nothing more than to be like Lithuania, and to see Lithuania subjugated again to imprisonment and torture was something that the Estonian boy would doubtless find hard to bear.

He walked with Panem through the halls, up an elevator, and before the elevator doors opened, she covered his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and he heard a smile in her voice as she replied.

"Ssh, Raivis. I want it to be a surprise."

And then the doors hissed open, she guided him out, and for a moment he thought he was imagining the wind that ruffled his curls. But then she released him, stepped back, and he saw that he was standing on the roof of the building he had been so long imprisoned in, a rooftop he had never dreamed he could gain access to.

It must have been months since he had been outside, he thought, and he ran out and stood in the middle of the roof, and as he looked up at the sun he smiled in spite of himself, sheer joy at being outside overtaking him.

And then he remembered Estonia, lying in their dark room with only a flicker of sunlight to warm him; then he remembered the others in their prison cells, the others who had not even _seen_ daylight in so long, and the joy faded into longing. He wanted the others up there with him, wanted to see Iceland's eyes light up again, wanted Estonia to smile. He wanted all of them to be up here, or better yet, to be down on the ground, free of Panem.

"It's very beautiful," he said to her. "But, why? Why did you bring me here?"

"I thought you'd like it," she said. "I thought you must have missed the sun."

"This is to win me over," he told her. "I know why you do things, you know."

"I know," she said. "But I still thought you'd like it, Raivis."

"I'd like it better if Eddy and Toris and Eirikur and the rest were here," he said.

"But they can't be here," she said, reaching out, pulling lightly on his curls. "So you should enjoy it for all of them."

"But I don't," he said, thinking of all the dying people in the prison below him and wishing, wishing, that he could set them all free, although he knew it was not possible. "I can't enjoy it, knowing they're all locked up down there, that they'll n-never see the sunlight again."

He knew she wanted him to like it, and he did like it, really, but it was also horrible, knowing that he was outside when everyone else could never see the sun again, as long as they lived.

He hated the privileges she gave him. He would much rather have suffered with the others.

"Aw, Raivis," Panem grumbled. "You're such a spoilsport."

She pulled him sideways into her, and for a moment he buried his face in the long chestnut hair and pretended that they were on an entirely different roof under entirely different circumstances, living entirely different lives. He wished that it could be so, for then, he could perhaps have enjoyed this moment when they were alone.

In another life, he would have liked to be alone with her, maybe even to kiss her on a rooftop like this. But in this life, he hated it, and although he tried to breathe in the smell of her hair and wish away all of the pain, when he opened his eyes, she was still wearing her bloodstained uniform and her proud, mad smile.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him closer, and he wondered if she was also dreaming of another life.

He wondered if, had he tried a little harder to save her in the beginning, they would still be standing here now.

"I'm sorry," he said, and her voice came from far away.

"What for?"

"Everything," he said simply, and lifted his face to the sky. "I am sorry for everything that has ever happened. I should like to take the weight of it all so that no one else would have to."

"But then you'd die, Raivis," said she. "And that wouldn't be any fun for me, or you."

"Perhaps not," he said. "But it might be better for everyone else."


	43. Wishes and Dreams

**Whew! I almost didn't get this posted today, haha. It's a little short; I'd been planning to add another scene but I just didn't have time this week. **

**I'm actually writing from just outside of Nashville, my state's capital, so yay! (It looks exactly like the rest of Tennessee from here.) I'm here for a Bible Drill competition, which is as random as it sounds, so wish me luck I guess? That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three: Wishes and Dreams

He was perfectly all right. Certainly, all of the bad things were just a dream. Someone would come and wake him up soon, come and tell that he had dreamed it all.

He could believe that. He could believe that more easily than he'd ever believed anything before. And he had always, he thought, been one to believe easily. But maybe that, too, was a dream. Maybe everything that ever been was a dream.

So when Panem came, he pushed all the fear away and reminded himself that he was only dreaming, that in his dreams he might be harmed, but the pain would eventually pass and he would wake up.

"Hello," he said to Panem, because that was the polite thing to do and he wasn't really sure whether or not one should be rude to crazy people in one's dreams. "How are you?"

She seemed to find this funny, and Italy laughed too, because he did not know what else to do, and anyway, if she was laughing she would probably not hurt him.

"Are we going somewhere?" he asked. "It's pretty boring in here, and I don't ever see anyone except Estonia, so I'd like to get out sometime…"

"Which is precisely why we're staying in here," Panem said.

"Oh," said Italy. "Well, I guess that's all right too."

He really would have liked to leave the cell for a while, maybe talk to someone, maybe even find Austria, who was at least a familiar face and someone he could probably trust. But if he couldn't, he couldn't. Staying in his cell would be all right too.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Italy?" Panem asked, and he saw she had something in between her fingers, something she was twirling around, something that looked suspiciously knife-like and scary.

"Um, um, hopefully nothing," he stammered. "At least, it would be really nice if you didn't."

"Italy," Panem said, "you know this isn't a dream, don't you?"

"It's definitely a dream," he said, and she laughed.

"Don't I look real to you? Don't you think this is a little too scary to be a dream?"

"I have some pretty scary dreams sometimes," Italy informed her, and suddenly Panem's knife was very, very close to his neck, and that was awfully scary, and weren't you supposed to wake up before you got hurt in dreams?

"You're quite amusing," Panem murmured. "But you're wrong, Italy. I am real; this is all real. And if you don't believe that, I'll have to force you to believe it. I won't stand for being ignored anymore!"

The knife pricked his neck; he whimpered and she moved the knife away, moved it down to his shoulders and then, suddenly, back up again to his face.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you," she said, and he froze, the knife inches away from his eyes, staring at her, the weapon blurring in and out of focus.

"Don't, don't! I don't understand; what'd I do?"

"I'd explain," Panem said, "but I really don't think you'd understand even if I tried. You're just a blind follower, you know, following everybody else wherever they go, depending on them to protect you. We may have discussed this before, Italy…but did you ever think about saving Japan and Germany, instead of letting them save you?"

"Well, well, they didn't really need saving, so… And I mean, I think I helped a little."

He really couldn't remember how far back this dream extended. What part of this was a dream, what part was real, and when, for that matter, had he started dreaming? How long could one dream, and yet not wake from the dream?

She raked the knife across his face, and he opened his mouth to cry for her to stop, only to feel the blade dig deeper into his skin.

"Don't," he whimpered. "Please? I don't think I did anything, so, so…"

He couldn't breathe; his chest was tight and he tried to remind himself that it was only a dream, yet still hysteria threatened to overwhelm him.

_"Just a dream just a dream just a dream she's not hurting me it is just a dream…"_

It didn't feel like a dream. He couldn't remember ever being so hurt in a dream before. He'd been scared, yes, many times, but never before had he felt such acute physical pain while dreaming.

_"But it's got to be a dream, it's got to be, if it's not a dream then it must be real and it_ can't be real_ I need to wake up…"_

His wounds stung as the tears ran into them, and that only made him cry harder. He was crying for Panem to stop, but then he tried to force himself to focus on the warm place inside of him, only to find that it was gone, replaced by terror and fear. He was not sure where that warmth had gone. He had always been able to rely on it before, and if it was not there it probably meant that something bad had happened to Romano in his dream, and he simply did not know about it yet.

He couldn't calm himself if there was nothing calming to concentrate on.

_"Just a dream just a dream Romano is fine Germany and Japan are fine they will come soon I just have to remember it is a dream_ I'm going to wake up_…"_

"You're no fun." Panem sounded almost disappointed. "You don't fight at all, you just cry. At least Estonia and Iceland fight. And they're younger than you, too."

Italy tried to remember who Estonia and Iceland were. He was fairly certain that it was important to remember, he knew they were nations, but exactly how they were connected with this dream of his and with Panem, he could not recall.

"I'll leave you alone for now," Panem said. "But next time, I hope you'll be more fun. In fact…I'm sure you will be. You can't lie to yourself forever. Even _I_ could not do that, when I tried."

Then she was gone, and Italy was left alone in the cold darkness that was, in fact, not very dark at all, for he could see the blood that came away when he put his hands up to his face to feel the wounds there.

The blood was real, the pain was real, at least in the dream, but had he ever bled or felt pain in a dream before?

"It's just a dream," he whispered, but his own frightened voice sounded awfully unconvincing, and so he could not be sure.

Now, along with the terror and fear at his core, there was pain too. Something very bad had happened to Romano.

He wondered how many of them were dreaming simultaneously. He wondered if any of the others knew that this was a dream.

"I really, really hope I wake up soon," he said. "This isn't a very nice dream…and it's an awfully long one, too."

* * *

Canada woke to grey dawn-light and for a moment he did not remember where he was, or how he had come to be sleeping in an alleyway with threadbare blankets over him.

But then he looked up, saw the man standing, leaning against the wall, saw the glint of pale hair in the early morning sun, and remembered being found by Prussia, remembered the man leading him there.

"Prussia?" he asked, quietly, and he didn't quite expect to be heard, because few people had heard or seen him in the days he'd been in the city. But Prussia did hear, and turned to him, an uncertain look on his face.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

"I guess," Canada murmured. He was not, really; he could still remember the gunshot and everything before it, but mostly he knew that France was dead and that he had failed to save him.

"You can say no," Prussia said. "I'm not really feeling the greatest, either."

Something had happened to Prussia too, then, if he was no longer proclaiming his superiority to anyone who would listen.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Prussia shook his head.

"It's fine. Just the way things are now. But if you want to talk, you can. I'm not a therapist or anything, but…"

"I think Francis shot himself," Canada blurted, and for just an instant he wondered if he had not subconsciously switched personalities with America. He would never have blurted something like that so suddenly before. But perhaps it was simply a side effect of having thought so long about what had happened; maybe he had needed to tell someone.

He could tell that the thought of France killing himself startled Prussia, and he looked down, whispering: "It might be better for him, dying like that. Alfred a-and Arthur were captured, so I don't know…"

"I haven't seen any of the others," Prussia said. "Not that I've been looking too hard, though."

"I only saw those three," Canada told him, and Prussia nodded.

"Almost everyone's gone now. Spain and Romano are the only ones left besides us, according to Panem's broadcasts. I've been trying to watch them, and people disappear. Russia, Lithuania, and Switzerland just disappeared a few days ago."

"I see," said Canada, fiddling with the tattered edge of his blanket. Prussia, still standing, was watching him, and he thought that the older man was not sure what to do with him.

"What do we need to do to survive?" he asked suddenly, looking up at Prussia. "Do we need to look for food? Better shelter? What can I do to help?"

Prussia gave him an odd look.

"Kid," he said, "You're not supposed to worry about it. France told you to find somebody who could take care of you, right? So why the sudden adult-ish-ness? Not that you aren't an adult; I mean, you are, but I would've thought that…"

"Francis was sort of sick, in his head, somehow," Canada said. "So I was taking care of him. I had to. And now he's dead."

_"And I failed him. All I had to do was protect one person and I couldn't even do that. There's really no reason I should-"_

"Hey, kid, Canada." Prussia's voice was sharper than before. "It's not your fault, all right? Whatever happened to Francis, even if he did shoot himself, that's not your fault. Suicide or not suicide, it was his choice, okay? And if that's what he chose, there's no reason to…"

"I left him behind!" Canada declared, and it would have been a shout, but his voice simply was not suited for shouting. "I left him, because he told me to run, and he died because I left!"

"As your older brother, it was _his_ job to take care of _you_, not the other way around!" Prussia snapped. "If anybody should have blamed himself, it would have been Francis, not you. It's an older brother's job to take care of his siblings."

He remembered, suddenly, that Germany had been Prussia's brother and that Germany was probably dead now. Germany did not seem like someone who could be imprisoned and tormented, no, he was probably dead and that would explain why Prussia had said that it was the older siblings who were to blame.

Prussia was wrong. He had been saner than France, and, regardless of age, he should have taken care of France better, and saved him.

"Look, regardless of that…" Prussia sounded almost helpless. "There's no reason for you to blame yourself. I knew Francis pretty well, or at least I like to think I did, and if I knew him, he knew what he was doing. He thought about it a lot. Dying, I mean. We'd talk about it sometimes, because…well, just because. But, anyways, I'm sure he knew. He probably thought it would be best for you. He was weird like that sometimes."

"He sort of was," Canada said.

_"But he also didn't deserve to die, not at all. He should have been saved."_

"Francis wouldn't blame you," Prussia said. "Come to think of it, his ghost is probably floating around thanking you about now. Like I said, he was weird. But I'm sure he wouldn't want you to be upset about him dying."

For a moment, Prussia stood silent, and Canada, who did not know how to reply, remained silent as well. Then, Prussia smiled a little, and motioned for Canada to stand up.

"You're right about one thing, though. We need to find some food. But you don't worry about anything, okay? I'll try my best to take care of you. And, hey, I'm not going to off myself, so we're safe there too! Okay? You don't have to worry. It's bad for your health. I know because Ludwig used to worry about _everything_, and it made him grumpy. So, trust me, and let's get going! I'm starving."

In spite of himself, Canada smiled a little.

_"He doesn't really seem like he needs to be protected, but maybe he does. He's definitely sad. Maybe it will be better for him to have me around. I hope so. I hope I can prevent things from getting any worse for him. I'm not sure, how much it affects him, but…I know…he lost his brother too."_

* * *

"Ed, you've gotta tell me what's going on, _please_."

Estonia blinked.

"I just walked in," he said heavily. "Give me a moment."

He set the food and water down next to America, then knelt himself, noticing as he did that the boy seemed fidgety and anxious, as if was running on very little sleep.

"What do you need to know?" he asked.

"China's dead, right?" America said, and Estonia nodded. "I knew that happened, but what happened to Natalya?"

"Natalya?" Estonia echoed. "I don't think anything's happened to her…"

"She wasn't screaming last night," America said. "She _always_ screams at night, cause Panem plays that horrid recording, but there wasn't any screaming last night. And the night before that, I thought, I thought I heard Toris…"

"You don't know," Estonia said, suddenly remembering. "Alfred…Toris is alive."

America's eyes went wide, and he stared at Estonia, unbelieving.

"But, but, that can't be," he said. "We saw- You were there-"

"He survived," Estonia said. "I don't know how, but he's with Belarus now. It's calmed her down a lot, I think. And…Russia and Switzerland are here as well. That's all the news, I think."

"That's a hell of a lot of news," America said. "Did all this happen in two days?"

Estonia nodded. "They were brought in the night China died. Apparently…apparently Toris was with him when he died."

"Is Toris okay?" America asked. "I mean…he used to get really torn up about dying and stuff, so…"

"He seemed more upset about the condition of the living," Estonia said. "Raivis, particularly."

_"He cares more about Raivis being treated like a possession than he does about Panem hurting me."_

"Eddy," America said, as if reading his mind. "Um…there's a lot I don't know, about what happened to you in particular, because we haven't really talked a lot, but…I know Toris means a lot to you, and I know he's worried about you too. He's probably kind of triggered by Raivis' situation, or…or something. I don't know. I'm the idiot here. But he does care. He cried for you a lot, after you guys left Russia, maybe more than he cried for Raivis then."

"I understand why he's upset by what's happening to Raivis now," Estonia said.

_"I wish I _was_ Raivis. I wish someone would love me enough to make me exempt from torture, to want to keep me alive, to take me outside to see the sunlight…"_

Oh, how he wished he had been the one on that roof with Panem. Latvia had told him about it on questioning, apologized for it, and he had said it couldn't be helped but he wished, more than anything, that someone loved him enough to give him privileges that no one else was allowed to have.

"That doesn't make it any better, though," he admitted, and America might have been the idiot who had gotten them all into this, but Estonia had told him enough that he seemed to understand what it was to live as the personification of Estonia and the human Eduard von Bock.

"I know," America said. "But he really, really loves you a lot. Like, even more than he loves the rest of the world. I think you Feliks and Raivis and Natalya - and maybe me and Ivan - are the people he loves the most."

"But I want to be loved most of all," Estonia said, staring at America, as if he could somehow will the boy to understand. "When I die, I want…I want someone to cry harder for me than they will for any of the others. And I don't think there's anybody who will do that. I think…I think no one will cry for me more than they cry for anyone else."

America was quiet for a long time.

"So…you wish that you had a Russia or a Panem to love you?" he asked. "Somebody who would be so obsessed that they would never let you go?"

Estonia nodded, feeling a strange choking sensation in his throat.

"Yes. That's exactly what I want."

"I'd tell you that's an awful thing to want," America said, "but…I get it."

"I have to go," Estonia said. "Is…is there anything you want me to tell the others."

"Tell Toris and Nat I said hi," America said. "And take care of yourself, Eddy. I'd care a lot if something happened to you, you know."

"That's only because you'd be lonely," he said, with a twisted half-smile.

"Yeah," America said. "But it'd be because I missed you, too, beyond the loneliness. And that's what you want, right?"

Estonia nodded, and then he left the room and went to Italy's cell, passing China's empty cell and feeling a pang of sadness and agony.

_"I miss him."_

Then he entered Italy's cell and all his morbid, broken thoughts for himself were replaced by horror.

Italy was sitting very still against the far wall of the cell, and there was dried blood on his face, down his neck, all over his clothes and hands. When Estonia entered, he looked up, but instead of happiness, there was merely confusion and terror in his eyes.

"Italy…"

"It hurts a lot," said Italy, very quietly.

"Where…where did she hurt you?" Estonia asked, because there was so much blood that he simply couldn't tell.

Italy lifted a bloodstained hand to his face, whimpering as his hand came into contact with the blood there.

"It's just my face. Nowhere else." He smiled, a sort of twisted, sad, broken smile that reminded Estonia a little bit of himself. "I must look pretty bad, huh?"

"Would you…?"

_"You have comforted Alfred since his brother died, haven't you? Do that for Italy, too, if you want to help…"_

"Would you like me to clean it up?" he asked. "It could get infected if we leave it like this, and I'm sure it will feel better if we clean it up."

"Will it hurt?" Italy asked, looking up at him with round, scared eyes, and Estonia tried to remember how he had comforted Latvia in the face of pain, back when Latvia was a scared, abused child instead of a brave and tormented adult.

"A little," he said. "But it will hurt less if we clean it now than it will if we leave the wounds to get infected. I'll be right here, and if you want me to stop, I will. All right?"

Italy nodded, and Estonia, almost without thinking, tore a piece off his own shirt, not really realizing what he'd done until Italy whimpered.

"It's fine," he said. "I have more. You only have one, so keep yours intact if you can."

He dipped the cloth in Italy's water glass, commenting: "I'll get more water when we're done, if I can. I'm sure Russia could survive without water for a day or two."

_"He's certainly put me through the same treatment plenty of times."_

Italy did not answer him, and he wrung the cloth out and then, carefully, touched it to Italy's face. The older boy shied away, like a frightened animal, and Estonia held the cloth steady, waiting.

"I'm not going to hurt you on purpose," he said. "If it hurts too much, it's because I'm being too rough, so tell me if I'm hurting you badly, all right?"

He touched the cloth to Italy's cheek again, rubbing away dried blood, trying to ignore the red-head's pained whimpers. And as the dried blood came away and the wounds began to bleed again, Estonia saw that Italy's face was laced with knife-wounds, so many and so deep that they would doubtless scar him permanently.

"Does it look very bad?" Italy asked in a quiet voice, when Estonia withdrew the cloth from his face.

"Not too bad," he said, although it did. But Italy could not see his reflection here, and so why should he have to know how awful his scars would prove to be?

"Thank you," Italy said. "That was really nice of you."

Estonia noticed that Italy was trembling, and, quietly, he asked: "Are you afraid?"

Italy nodded.

"I'm afraid I won't wake up from this dream," he said, and Estonia nodded.

"Me too."

"It's a really awful dream, huh?" Italy asked.

"Yeah." Estonia was trying to meet Italy's eyes without letting his gaze drift to the other boy's cut face. "I…I have to go now, Italy. Are you going to be all right?"

"Probably," Italy said, mustering another of his brilliant smiles. "I'm pretty sure I'll be okay for a while."

He bit his lip, looking worried, and Estonia, remembering how comforting it felt to be held by someone who cared, leaned forward and cautiously embraced Italy.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said. "You should be fine until then."

"Okay," Italy said, and it was clear that he was not convinced, but Estonia did not know how to convince him, so he stood up and turned to go.

"You'll be fine," he repeated, and Italy, still cowering in the corner, smiled at him.

"Thank you," he said. "I mean, for all of it. It was a really nice thing to do. Not many people would, you know?"

"Yeah. I guess not." He smiled at Italy, and then he lifted his hand to wave as he left the cell.

_"I would think that any decent person would have comforted him. But…I suppose it could simply be that he hasn't known many decent people. I'm not sure. I would have thought myself the least likely person to help him. But he does need someone. And obviously, there's no one else here who can be there for him. And I might die, and it might all be for nothing, but…at least for now, I can be his friend. And that's something I think he needs. I wish he was right, and all of this was a dream. Like him, I'm scared that, at some point, I won't wake up. But for him…not waking up would mean being trapped here forever. And that would be worse, I think, than death itself, for most people. Most people, people like Raivis and Toris and China and Italy, will have a heaven waiting for them."_


	44. Foreboding

Chapter Forty-Four: Foreboding

Iceland was starting to get sick, or at least Latvia thought that was what it was. But then, really, Iceland had been sick for a long time, in his head if not in his body. He decided not to point out Iceland's weakness, the dulled look in his eyes or the way he coughed as if he were ill. Iceland must already know that he was sick, maybe even dying, and this gave Latvia even more reason to linger in Iceland's cell, even more reason to want to spend time with the Nordic boy before the end.

The end was probably inevitable whether or not Iceland's sickness got worse, whether or not Iceland got better. They would probably all die. Panem certainly planned on killing all of them. But if Iceland was already sick, the end might be sooner than even Panem had planned.

"I've been awfully thirsty lately," Iceland said, and he stated it as if it were a fact, and not the plea for water that they both knew it was.

"I'd come more often if I could," Latvia whispered, and Iceland smiled weakly.

"I know, Raivis. Sorry. I'm being selfish again."

"I don't really think you are," said Latvia. He was sitting on the floor a short distance from Iceland, as he often did, and he saw not a proud and selfish youth, but a sick, hurt child kneeling with his arms pinioned above his head. He could only barely picture Iceland in any other position. The boy had not been allowed to move from this place since the day that England had died. At least the others were able to walk, to move, to do something other than kneel in the same position forever. Iceland, Latvia thought, might have the worst torture of them all.

"Why do you think that?" Iceland asked.

"Because, because you aren't," Latvia said. "You're in a really awful situation, you know. So I think you're being really strong, Eirikur. Stronger than I could be, anyway."

Iceland chuckled. "I don't think there's anyone stronger than you, Raivis."

He noticed, all at once, that Iceland's hair was growing over his eyes, and he felt a stab of pity worse than what he had felt before.

"But you can't even get your hair out of your eyes if it's itching you," he said, "and you barely even complain about it, so I really don't think you're selfish. If anyone's selfish, it's Panem, who complains when she has more than anyone else."

He stood up, went to Iceland, and brushed the hair out of the other boy's eyes. Iceland smiled at him, and although the smile was forced - all smiles were forced in this place, except for Panem's - Latvia took comfort in that smile. Iceland was still strong, far stronger than he believed himself to be.

"Thanks, Raivis."

He nodded, and then he must have hesitated, because Iceland's face fell.

"You have to go now," he said.

Raivis nodded again.

"Yeah. I'll…I'll be back tomorrow, though. Maybe sometime I can stay longer, like I used to."

"It's probably better if you don't…" Iceland broke off, coughing, smiling wryly as he struggled to recover. "That just proves my point. I might be contagious."

"I don't think so," said Latvia, and Iceland shook his head.

"Whatever the case, you're right, you need to go. Go on."

Latvia picked up the dishes from the floor and left the cell, not looking back. Neither he nor Iceland liked it when he looked back. Short goodbyes were best.

_"Short goodbyes, like the short span of our remaining lives," _he thought, and wished that he had a pen and paper so he could write that down. Maybe he would ask Panem for one. She did not know about his stories, and there were few others who did, or who showed interest in reading them. Lithuania had, once, but the darkness of the stories had upset him so deeply that Latvia had hidden his writing from the older boy since then.

The romantic ones were embarrassing, and _no one_ knew he'd written them.

_"Panem might like them, if I still had them. Most of my stories are gone now, though."_

He'd lost them when the majority of the world had flooded. He remembered a few snippets, mostly poetry, but that was all. Still, he had subject matter here. Perhaps he ought to write. Perhaps it would keep him sane, if anything could. It had helped when he was with Russia, and he would have far more time to write, here.

He'd picked up Austria and Switzerland's food already, and he forced himself back onto the 'goodbyes' train of thought, because it had been a promising one, although it took him most of the walk down the hallway to straighten his thoughts.

_"We have to say these quick goodbyes because we never know if the current goodbye might be the last one. And if we said every goodbye like it was a final goodbye, we would never, never be able to let go of the person we were bidding farewell to."_

Some days he wondered if his thought process was a curse. There was blood on the floor of Austria and Switzerland's cell.

"Raivis, leave the food there." Switzerland's voice, and then the blond was on his feet, striding over to Latvia. Peering past him, Latvia could just barely see Austria, huddled in the darkened corner of the cell.

"Is he okay?" he asked, and a deep, agonized shadow passed over Switzerland's face.

"No, he's not, and he doesn't want anyone to see, so… Go on now."

Switzerland's tone was so gentle, the kind of voice one would use when trying to shelter a child, and Raivis half-wanted to stay, to try and help Austria, but he also did not want to make Switzerland angry. Trembling slightly, he handed the food to Switzerland.

"I h-have to go back for the water," he said.

Switzerland nodded, and Latvia turned away, only to freeze and turn back to Switzerland.

"Tell him it's okay," he said. "Tell him we've all gotten - well, all of us but me - have gotten really hurt…and that…none of us want this, but we're all going to, to stand together and help each other out if we can, so…"

"It wouldn't matter," said Austria, "even if you weren't making it up. We can't do anything against her. Don't make up stories."

Latvia flinched.

"It's, it's sort of true…"

"But you didn't discuss it with them, did you?" Austria asked. "Don't hold people to promises they never made. It's a bad habit."

"Yes, sir," Latvia whispered, and his voice must have broken, or _something_, because all of a sudden Austria sounded like he was about to cry.

"Raivis, listen, I don't _blame_ you for lying but _I can never play the piano again and Basch doesn't understand_."

"He can still sing," Switzerland said. "He has a voice. It's not…"

"It's not the end of the world but it's the beginning of the end," Latvia said. "That's how it is for you, right, Mr. Austria? Even if you still have some things left, you're scared of the time when even those things will get taken away."

Austria raised his head and looked right at Latvia.

"Yes. That's exactly how it is."

"Then hear this - and this is not a lie, Mr. Austria. So maybe nobody promised to all stand together and be strong. Maybe that's a lie. But I know that Panem is taking, from each of us, the thing we most need to keep ourselves from going totally insane. Everybody here - even me, although you can't _ever, ever_ tell Toris and Eddy - is slowly going insane. We get that, so even if we didn't_ promise_, we'll still help each other. That's just the kind of thing that decent nations do for each other, so we'll definitely, definitely do it. I will, anyway."

"So will I," Switzerland said gruffly. "We're with you, Roderich, you know that."

Austria looked up at them both, tears glistening in his violet eyes.

"Thank you," he said, but he was looking at Switzerland and not at Latvia.

Latvia smiled, shook his head ever so slightly, and turned to go.

_"I wonder what it's like, to love someone who isn't insane…"_

* * *

Italy did better about not whimpering this time, and he thought that he must be getting better, although his face still stung awfully, still felt hot and itchy. Estonia's hands were cold, although shaky, and when he wasn't pressing too hard, his touch helped more than it hurt.

"You're healing well," Estonia said, removing his hand from Italy's face.

"It's only been a couple of days," Italy said. "It could still get infected, right?"

"Yes, but as long as you don't rub dirt in the cuts, I don't think that will happen now. You're probably out of danger."

Italy smiled.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Estonia asked, looking ever so slightly confused. "Like I told you, I'm only doing what any sane human would do."

Italy looked down, searching his pant legs for any sign of a distraction. Making eye contact was awkward, especially with Estonia, who had sort of crazy eyes and was very scary when he was angry or confused.

"Well," he said, fiddling with a loose thread, "it's just, not many people _do_ help each other, especially not people like us. There were a lot of times when I was pretty hurt, and I thought people who'd been my friends were going to kill me, instead of helping me out like you're doing. So I think you're a pretty good person, to be doing this for me when we barely even know each other."

He tried to think of something else to say, something that could properly convey exactly what he thought of Estonia's kindness, and the word that popped into his head was such a perfect one that he had no idea why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Actually, you're kind of like an angel, you know? Cause God sends angels to help people, right? I mean, maybe that's not exactly what I was taught, but I always thought that if God has a lot of angels, he should be sending them all to help people who are hurting..."

He looked up Estonia, and discovered that he had no idea what to make of the other boy's expression. Estonia was staring at him, wide-eyed, but his eyes weren't scary anymore, just far away, like he'd been shocked into going away somewhere else to think about what Italy had said.

"Estonia?" He waved his hand in front of the other boy's face. "Hey, Estonia?"

All at once, Estonia lunged forward and hugged him close, and Italy didn't understand, but apparently he'd said something that had made Estonia cry, because the blond was shaking, shaking and sobbing unintelligibly, and Italy was so startled that all he could really do was hug Estonia back, because that seemed like the sensible thing to do.

After a while, Estonia seemed to recover himself, and Italy let him pull away, sitting silent and confused while Estonia dried his eyes.

"Thank you," Estonia whispered, his voice still choked with tears. "Thank you so much."

"Um, you're welcome, but for what?" Italy asked.

Estonia smiled, a tear-stained smile full of unshared secrets.

"It's nothing. But thank you."

He stood up, took the food and water dishes, and was gone before Italy could think of anything to say. He still did not know what he had said that had made Estonia cry, but he thought that maybe it was all right, as long as Estonia's tears were been happy ones.

He decided to check on Romano. He'd been doing this a lot, every few minutes, ever since he'd tried to calm himself and found that something had happened to Romano.

The raw terror and pain had subsided into something else, more a dull, persistent, horrible ache than anything else. Italy did not like it. He wanted to know what had happened, wanted to make it better, because he could not calm himself if Romano was hurting too.

He tried to focus on the thought that Estonia would be back tomorrow and they could talk again, and that helped a little, just a little, although thinking of Estonia also prompted another wave of confusion.

_"I still don't know why he would cry because I said he was like an angel."_

* * *

Austria had realized at some point in the last day that losing his dignity and breaking down did absolutely nothing to help the situation, and quite a lot to make him feel worse. At least Switzerland was considerate about it. Panem was not. She liked to mock him, probably liked to mock everyone, but he was not going to give her the opportunity again, if he could help it.

It was hard, though, to keep that thought steady in his mind when he looked at his ruined fingers and knew that she was coming, might already be on her way, to torture him again.

"I don't know what more she can do after she does this," he said. "What else can she do, Basch?"

They were back on a first name basis, and it felt _right_, felt almost comforting to be able to call Switzerland by his human name again. It had been a long time since they had spoken like this.

"I don't think we should discuss it," Switzerland said. "We don't want to give her any ideas, Roderich."

"She already has plenty of ideas," Austria murmured. His hand still hurt, it wouldn't move right; he was _sure_ she had broken most if not all of the bones in his remaining fingers. "They're good ideas, Basch, and I don't know…"

"All that we can do is hope that she will get distracted," Switzerland said. "Talk to Latvia when he comes tomorrow. He's close to her, isn't he, so…?"

"That boy can do nothing to stop her," Austria said, and he remembered the bloody scene in the conference room, desperate little Latvia trying to deflect Panem's anger, all in vain. "He tries, but he cannot do anything. He cannot help us."

"And he shouldn't be made to," Switzerland said quietly. "I was wrong to think that. He's only a child."

They sat in silence for a while. They were sitting back to back, Switzerland facing the doorway, Austria facing the opposite wall, and Austria could not see Switzerland's face, but he sensed that the other man was thinking about something.

"Heidi is dead," Switzerland said suddenly, and it would have seemed quite random, except that he had probably been trying to think of how to say it for a long time. They had been sitting here, like this, for hours now.

"I'm sorry," said Austria, because he could not think of anything else to say.

"Hungary?" Switzerland asked.

"Dead, too."

"I'm sorry about her too, then."

"Mm."

"Roderich?" Switzerland sounded almost motherly for a moment. "Are you going to be all right?"

"No," he said. "But neither are you."

"No," Switzerland agreed, "I suppose not."

And again they lapsed into silence, but it was an almost companionable silence, as if they had chosen to be quiet, to think their own thoughts in peace, but with the comfort of each other's company.

"When she comes, I want you to let me go," Austria said. "It will be easier, for both of us."

There was a long silence. Then: "You're shaking."

"I know."

Switzerland's hand came to rest on his own, not yet broken one, and Austria grasped his friend's hand and held on, and together they waited until Panem came. And when she came and called for him, Switzerland tightened his grip for a moment, as if trying to comfort Austria, and Austria squeezed back and then let go, stood up, and went to Panem.

"You're shaking," she said, and her voice was mocking, not at all like Switzerland's quiet, comforting, observant voice.

"I know," he said, and this time it was no quiet admission, but a stiff acknowledgement that she had spoken to him.

His _voice_ was shaking too, and he looked back and saw Switzerland still sitting on the floor of the cell, and tried to force himself to smile.

"I will be all right, Basch," he said, although they both knew he would not.

The cell door closed before Switzerland could reply, and Austria turned away and let Panem lead him down the long corridor to the room in which he had been tortured the day before.

She had obviously put some thought into his torture, for there was a table here with restraints built into its top, and she bound his wrists in those restraints. He found himself staring at his hands, one broken, one soon to be broken, and felt panic and hysteria rising, uncontrollable.

"What did I do to you?" he asked her, because he had realized that she thought everyone had done something to her and wanted to know what he had done.

Her answer was the last thing he could have expected.

"You? You did nothing. I am not torturing you for your own crimes, although I'm sure if I thought about it, I could think of something you've done to me."

"If not…" He couldn't _breathe,_ let alone speak coherently. "If I did nothing, why…?"

"Because," she said, and he was trying not to look at her, but she lifted his chin, forced his head up so he was looking her straight in the eyes. "Because Basch loves you."

He couldn't deny that Switzerland cared for him, but love was a bit too strong a word for their situation.

"He cares," he admitted, his voice cracking inexplicably. His mouth had gone dry; he swallowed hard, trying to restore the moisture. "I wouldn't say he loves me…"

"That's for him to decide," Panem said. "But he does care for you. I am punishing you because, to Switzerland, there is no greater pain than to fail in protecting what he loves. He and Lithuania share this trait."

She hummed thoughtfully.

"I'll have to think a bit about what exactly to do with Lithuania," she mused. "Well, I'll get to that later. For now, Roderich, it's your turn."

He did not watch her choose a weapon this time. She had knives, hammers, all manner of tools to crush and hurt him, and he shut his eyes and looked away so that he would not see what she was going to do to him, so that he would not beg her to stop.

When the hammer came down on his fingers, though, he could do nothing to stop himself from crying out as she tortured him.

He tried to think about Hungary; the hammer smashed down on his hand and he remembered that Hungary was dead, remembered trying to pull her body from the mound of rubble only to fail, only to realize that she was already far beyond help.

He tried to think of, of anyone who could possibly give him strength, but they were all dead or even weaker than himself, and if anything, it would be he who must help them.

And then he thought of Switzerland as Panem took a knife and began cutting, sawing at his fingers. Switzerland, brave Switzerland with his insistence that they stay strong and not give Panem any kind of psychotic fulfillment or any ideas for further torture, would certainly not let Panem have the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Austria had never been as strong as Switzerland, and rather than making him be strong, the thought of Switzerland made his cries take on a coherent meaning.

Over and over he screamed for Switzerland to save him, until finally the torture was past and he slumped sobbing and exhausted on the table as Panem unlocked the restraints around his broken, mangled hands.

"Aw, Roderich," Panem mocked. "You're really no fun, do you know that?"

_"Don't give her the satisfaction. Don't. Don't give it to her."_

He couldn't have formed words even if he'd wanted to, and his sobs, while probably giving her some kind of twisted satisfaction, could not have provided more amusement than the cries of anyone else. He let her take him back to his cell and did not fight because he _wanted _to go back, back to the comparative safety of the half-darkness and Switzerland's protection.

She pushed him inside, roughly, and he was shaking so badly that he would surely have fallen had Switzerland not caught him.

"Roderich, are you all right?"

They both knew he was not.

Austria collapsed in Switzerland's arms and cried like a child. Later, he wondered if the others in the prison had heard him crying.

He did not have the strength to be embarrassed at the thought that they had heard him breaking down. He had heard them breaking, too.

* * *

He really did have a delayed thought process, he was sure of that much. It had taken him at least a day to fully realize that Lithuania was alive, and now, all of a sudden, he was quite literally about to cry over it.

"He's really alive," America whispered to his empty cell, and in that moment he wished, desperately, that England was there with him, to share in this triumph and convince him that it would be all right.

For although Lithuania was alive, he might not stay that way for long.

_"Panem'll kill him to torture me, or do something awful to him, or something. It's not just me who loves him; it's everybody in this whole place. Everyone wants Lithuania to be okay."_

He wanted to see Lithuania, to apologize for - for what, exactly?

He had a suspicion that what he really wanted was to fall into Lithuania's arms and cry for a while, like a child, because he finally understood how much of an idiot he had been, and he wanted to apologize to everyone, and especially to Lithuania, whose future suffering would probably be made a thousand times worse by the trauma that he had sustained before.

He couldn't cry even if he _did_ see Lithuania, because he knew, maybe just as well as the other Baltics did, how much Lithuania hated it when other people were hurting. Lithuania would feel much better if America pretended that everything was okay.

Thinking about Lithuania made him wish that England was there. Wishing England was there made him think about all the things that had once been and could never be again. Thinking about all the things that could never be again made him think about dying. He could have skipped the feels trip if he had known this was where he'd end up.

He was tired of people dying, tired of the dread of what Panem might do next, and he was frightened by the fact that he had heard screams, three times now in two days, but none of those times had Panem brought him to watch.

He was scared that she was planning something again. Last time she had been silent for so long, she had ended the silence by holding a demonstration, she had forced them all to murder England.

He didn't think he could stand to go through that again.

* * *

**So yeah. There's a chapter for you. Next time should be...fun. Yes, next time will be fun. Lots of fun. :)**

**It would be funner if I could ever _figure out how to write Austria_. He confuses me no end, which is actually kind of weird, but you know.**


	45. Angels' Torment

**Well, here is the several-hours-late chapter. I hope you all enjoy it? (You're all going to kill me when you're done reading probably.)**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five: Angels' Torment

There was a room made out of glass, and it was to this room that she took him. But before she took him, before he even knew that he was going to be taken, he knew that she would come. He had always known that if she caught him alive, she would torture him again.

Before the glass room, there was the prison cell with Belarus nestled in his arms, more peaceful than he'd ever seen her, and he had never felt so loved before. He had never felt that she was his more fully. Before these past days, he had not been able to dream that she would ever be his at all.

She sighed softly, and he looked down at her, worry for her overtaking his thoughts.

"Are you all right, Natalya?"

She nodded drowsily. "I'm happy you're here," she whispered, and nestled closer to him, and maybe it was ever so slightly wrong that she was suddenly so comfortable with him, but he liked it, and he hoped that her love would never go away again.

Before the glass room, the door slammed open and Belarus turned suddenly from a peaceful, beautiful girl to the cowering, near hysterical creature she had been when he'd found her. She leapt up, cowered back into the shadows of the cell, eyes wide and terrified, her body quivering. Lithuania could hardly believe his eyes as he looked from Belarus to the doorway where Panem stood. It was almost insane, to think that the mere sight of this young girl could turn Belarus into this wild beast, and yet it could not be denied.

"Natalya, it's all right," he said, reading something in Panem's eyes, a hate directed not at Belarus but at him. "She's not here for you."

"I don't want her to hurt you!" Belarus cried, and he turned his back on Panem and went to her, cupping her face in his hands, talking softly.

"I'm dead, remember?" he said. "So whatever you think you see, it's all a lie. She can't really touch me, Natalya, but I have to keep up appearances, you know. You're the only one who knows I'm dead. It's…it's our special secret. No one else can know, so I have to pretend I'm hurt sometimes, all right? But it's all a lie. I'm really fine. Remember that, no matter what you think she's done to me. It's all lies, all of it. Do you believe me, Natalya?"

She nodded shakily, and he smiled and held her face for a moment longer, bracing himself before he straightened to turn away.

"Now, I have to go. I'm sure I'll see you soon, though, so don't worry about me. All right?"

She bit her bottom lip until it turned white; he rather thought she was going to bite it until it bled. Then, she nodded once more, and he turned to go, only to be halted by her next words.

"Toris?"

"Yes, Natalya?"

"Don't die again," she said, and in that moment, he wondered whether she knew he was alive or not. It did not really matter. If he died, it would be merciful to him, but he would not be able to choose between death and life, not here.

"I will try," he said, and then he went to Panem, stopping in front of her, unsure of what to do.

"A-are there handcuffs?"

"Not for you," said Panem, and she smiled a strange and deadly smile that he wished never to see again.

Before the glass room, he followed her down the corridor in silence, all the way to the last door. And behind this last door was another hallway, and down that last hallway they walked together until they reached the end. At that end there were two doors, and Panem open the right door and led him in.

In the glass room, Lithuania could see that there was a thick pane of glass separating this room from the next, but, somehow, he could not see through the glass. In the glass room, he could see no instruments of torture, not yet, but he knew that torture would come.

"Take off your shirt and give it to me," Panem ordered, and he did, hating himself as he did it for being so obedient to this horrid woman. But he had trained himself to do what he had to in order to survive, and to survive one must always, always, obey orders issued by the one who bullied and abused them.

"Now wait here," she said. "I'll be back shortly."

The lights went off when she left the room, and he had never thought to look for the light switch, so he could not tell how to turn the lights back on.

In the glass room, half-naked and surely awaiting torture, Lithuania tried to remember what it felt like to breathe without this terrible, crushing anxiety and fear in his chest.

It was far easier to draw blood with his teeth this time. Now he knew how hard he had to bite. As the blood dripped from his hand, warm and sticky in the darkness, Lithuania began to remember why he had first begun this practice of drawing blood to calm himself.

_"That's right. I can cry if I am tortured. If there is physical pain, then all the hurt inside my head is free to melt away or to manifest in tears. To be in pain is to be allowed to cry."_

* * *

America's feelings of dread the night before must have been prophetic. Panem came in the morning, smiling and happy and clearly about to crush him further. He did not want to be crushed anymore, nor did he want anyone else to be hurt again because of what he had done.

"If I ask you to stop," he said wearily, "if I beg that you stop hurting my friends and take me instead, it still won't do any good, will it?"

"No," said she, impassively. "We have been through this, Alfred, a great many times, in fact. Your punishment could not be made greater even if I employed my greatest tortures on you. Watching them suffer for your crimes has broken you far more than any physical torment ever can."

"And it still isn't enough?"

"It will never be enough," she said. "Now come, Alfred. Or are you going to try and resist me again?"

He remembered the awful, awful day when Japan had been beaten to death, and he knew, he _knew_, that he could never disobey her again, or one of his friends would pay an even greater price than his own suffering.

He followed her down the familiar hallway, past the rooms where she had tormented him and the others in the past, and at the end of the hallway she opened the door and passed into another, which he had never seen before.

_"What kind of a crazy torture is she planning?"_

He thought he was going to be sick from the thought, the thought of a torture so extreme that it required its own wing to be carried out.

But then she pushed him into a glass room, a room with lights only barely lit, a room already occupied by five figures.

"Alfred," said Estonia's voice. The blond Baltic was leaning against the wall, the only person there who was even trying to stand. Latvia knelt next to Italy, who looked up at America wide-eyed, and it took America a moment, but he suddenly realized that there was something very _off_ about Italy's face.

"Yeah, she cut me up a bit," Italy said, smiling weakly. "But Estonia's been helping out a lot, so it's getting lots better. It's only been three days, but I practically feel healed!"

"He thinks I'm magic," Estonia said. And then, quietly, he added, with a sort of bittersweet half-smile, "And he told me I was an _angel_, Alfred."

America did not have the faintest idea what Estonia was talking about, but it seemed to have made him happy, so he plastered a smile on his face and pretended to be enthusiastic.

"That's great, Ed!"

Latvia smiled up at him, and he thought that he must have done the right thing for once, if the kid was grinning at him so happily. And then his eyes fell on the final figures in the room.

Austria was sitting very still against the wall, his head bowed, knees tucked up to his chest, and Switzerland was sitting between him and the doorway, as if shielding him from anyone who might enter.

"I'm gonna go say hello to them," he said, and Latvia shook his head hurriedly.

"No, don't. I've, I've been telling people, because Mr. Switzerland told me to - Mr. Austria doesn't want anyone to see what happened to him. He thinks, well, he thinks there's no reason for him to keep on living anymore and he doesn't want anyone to see him like this, so Mr. Switzerland asked me to keep everyone away."

America could see nothing wrong with Austria, but he nodded, willing to forgo talking to the others - who probably blamed him for whatever had been done to them - in favor of Latvia's peace of mind.

"Okay, Rai, I'll leave them be."

The door hissed open, there was a sharp, agonized cry, and even before America could turn to look, he heard Latvia's gasp and knew that something bad had happened.

Iceland lay face down on the floor, his silver-blond hair matted and dirty, and even with him sprawled out on the floor, America could immediately see how thin he was.

"Someone get him out of the way," Panem said impatiently, and turned to go, muttering something that America did not catch, but Latvia, who was already bending over Iceland, clearly did, because he turned pale and looked at them all as if he were about to cry.

"I'll go help him," America said to Estonia. "Stay with Feli; he seems to really like you."

Estonia nodded, and America turned and went to Raivis, who was still kneeling over Iceland, his face pale and drawn.

"What'd she say, Raivis?"

"She said…she said she ought to kill him next," Latvia said softly. "It's nothing though; don't worry about it. She does stuff like this all the time."

Iceland raised his head slightly, weakly. "I hope she kills me soon. I don't like…I don't like her being stronger than me."

"Well, we'll get you settled in no time, and then it'll be all right," America said, and found that he still had just enough strength to pick up the Icelandic boy and carry him over to where Italy and Estonia were. Just as he set Iceland down, the door opened again, and when he turned to look, he saw Russia, standing awkwardly with his hands bound.

"Damn it," Estonia hissed, and for just a moment, America could see a frightening amount of hatred in the boy's eyes. He bent over Iceland again.

"Comfortable?"

Iceland nodded. "Yes. Thank you, America."

"I'll take care of him," Latvia whispered, inserting himself into the space next to Iceland. "You're stronger and bigger than me, so please, please make sure Eddy doesn't blow up at Russia and get himself killed."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Hero's honor." He got a smile out of Latvia with that one, although the smile was hardly worth the beating he'd get if Russia or Estonia snapped.

Russia said nothing, still standing just inside the door, fiddling with his restraints. Estonia stood still, silent, rigid, watching him.

"Ed," America said. "He's not gonna hurt you. You know that, right?"

"I don't trust him." Each word was forced out between gritted teeth, and America put his hand on Estonia's shoulder, hoping that he could somehow manage to calm the Baltic boy before blood was spilled.

"I know, but he can't hurt you with his hands tied, can he?"

"I'm sure he could if he wanted to," Estonia growled, glaring at Russia.

"Eduard, I am not going to hurt you," Russia said quietly. "Look, I will sit right here, in this corner which is next to the door, and not bother you at all."

Without another word, Russia went and sat very still in the corner, staring at his hands as if he were imagining something far away.

"I think he's pretty harmless, Ed," said America. "Why don't you go sit with Italy and the others, okay?"

Estonia nodded sharply, and stalked off to rejoin the others, leaving America standing alone.

He was ready when the door opened one last time, ready when Belarus entered. He was not ready for the worried murmur from Estonia and Latvia, who seemed to realize something was wrong even before America realized who was missing.

"Hey, Nat," he said, and for just a moment she stopped and stared at him, and it was kind of weird, because she looked at once far calmer and far more upset than she had been before. She looked sane, but anxious and afraid.

"Toris is not here," she said, drawing her jacket - his jacket - closer around herself. "Panem took him a long time ago."

"Latvia and I have been here for an hour," Estonia said. "Do you think it was before that?"

Belarus shook her head.

"Don't know. Hard to tell time."

America tried to ignore the constricting feeling in his chest, tried and failed and finally turned to Belarus and led her to sit against the wall, between Russia and the others.

"Hey, Nat, you know Russia's here, right?" America asked, and she nodded.

"Yes. Hello, Brother."

Russia smiled, his reply soft and cautious. "Hello, Natalya. Has Alfred been taking good care of you?"

Belarus nodded. "Yes. He protects me sometimes."

America made an apologetic face at Russia. "It's not like I can protect her all the time, I guess?"

A shadow passed over Russia's face. "You are quite right, Alfred. I am sure she does not blame you for failing sometimes."

All at once, it was brighter in the room; all at once, there was a collective _noise_ from the others, a combination of sound that blended and mixed into one horrific one. A gasp, a sob, a whimper, all mixed into the incarnate sound of pain and fear.

America had not so deeply regretted his own selfishness and folly since England had died.

* * *

Russia now knew that it was possible to feel your heart stop beating completely in your chest, and yet, to still live.

He had known, they'd _all_ known, what it meant that Lithuania wasn't there, but to see him trapped, alone with Panem on the other side of a glass wall, was confirmation of Russia's worst fear and_ he_ _did not want this_.

"No!" They all turned to stare at him as the word burst from his lips, all but Estonia, who remained staring at Lithuania even as he let out a harsh, barking laugh.

"You can act like you care about his pain after you tortured him? You really think you have the right to do that?"

"Eddy, don't…"

"No, listen, Raivis!" Estonia sounded angry, really angry, and Russia wanted to run away, but there was nowhere to run to, and if Estonia killed him then, at least, he would be gone and could not cause these children any more pain.

"He kidnapped us, kept us prisoner, tortured us, _tortured Toris most of all_, and he has the nerve to…to…"

"To be sorry for my actions as you are sorry for yours," said Russia. "I know you do not like me, you have no reason to like me, but-"

The most pained, broken, unearthly shriek he had _ever heard_ rang out, and suddenly none of them cared what he had done; they cared only for what was happening on the other side of the glass wall.

"She can't." Estonia sank to his knees, muttering distractedly, running his hands through his hair. "She can't do that to him she _knows she can't_…"

Russia forced himself to look and immediately knew that he would regret the decision for the rest of his life.

He'd seen this so many times: Lithuania, on his knees, sobbing, his shirt gone, but he had never seen the person torturing Lithuania before, because before, he had been that person.

He saw the agony on Lithuania's face as if he had never seen it before, heard the repeated, tormented screams, and suddenly understood perfectly why Estonia wanted to kill him. He had no defense. This torture, this whipping going on in front of them, was just the same as the beatings and whippings he had used to 'punish' Lithuania so long ago.

"She can't," Estonia repeated; he was pulling on his hair now, grabbing great handfuls as if he were about to tear his hair out by the roots. "She can't she can't she can't…"

And then Latvia did a strange thing. The small boy stood up, his face perfectly serene except for his silent tears, and went over to the glass wall, where he knelt silently, watching Panem and Lithuania. And maybe Russia was the only one who could see the sadness in Latvia's eyes - he could read eyes, now, even if he could do nothing else - but he saw it there, even when it was absent on the boy's face.

"What's he doing?" Italy asked, and Russia just barely heard Iceland's answer.

"I think he is praying, although to what god, I don't know. Maybe Raivis knows of a god who has not abandoned us."

Russia could not tear his eyes away from Lithuania, though he did not think the brunet boy even knew they were there. Perhaps, on Lithuania's side of the wall, there was some sort of shield that made it so that they could see him, while he could not see them. Or perhaps he was too hurt to notice them. But still Lithuania screamed, still Russia could hear the agony in his voice, and still he could not save him.

"The famous Lithuania," Panem taunted, as Lithuania's screams died away for a moment. "I thought you'd be tougher than this."

She kicked the boy, he screamed again, and Russia had had enough, then, had enough before it first began. Maybe he could break the glass, maybe he could get to Lithuania, to save him.

Latvia turned to stare wide-eyed at him as he strode over and began beating the wall, uselessly - it was not glass after all, but something far stronger - screaming: "Stop! Do not hurt him! You are a monster; leave him alone!"

Estonia was still muttering; Latvia resumed his silent, melancholy staring at Lithuania, and beyond the two Baltics and his own shouting, Russia began to be aware of the others' reactions.

Austria was sobbing, curling in on himself, and Switzerland crouched at his side, a guardian against the torture, his expression grim and broken. Italy stared as if petrified, and it appeared he had grabbed Iceland's hand and was holding it like a lifeline, his knuckles were so white and Iceland's expression so pained.

Belarus's screams were almost inaudible only because there was no one who could drown out Lithuania's shrieks, not now, when the boy was in so much pain. She was clinging to America, sobbing, screaming, begging unintelligibly, and America held onto her, tears running helplessly down his face.

And Russia stood and beat the wall until his hands hurt, and still he could not even give Lithuania the comfort of knowing he was there.

Slowly, he watched Lithuania's sanity starting to slip away again.

* * *

He couldn't breathe around his own screams, couldn't even hold a stolen breath before it was torn out of him again.

_"It hurts, it hurts…"_

He didn't know where he was, what he was, who he was, why he was being hurt, he only wanted to disappear, to get away from the pain.

He remembered.

_He remembered lying on the floor, trying to shield himself; Russia pulled him up and shook him and he cried "No! I don't want you to hurt me anymore!" and Russia struck him and _it hurt so much_…_

"Stop!" he shrieked. "Stop! Don't!"

_Russia demanded Lithuania explain why he could not trust him, and he screamed that he needed to know why Russia hurt him and it was 'helping, always helping', but it couldn't possibly help when he was slowly _dying_ of pain._

What was the reason he was supposed to live? There had to be some reason. No, no, there was no reason; his only purpose was to suffer and even when he fulfilled that purpose, he had not saved anyone, they were probably being tortured even now…

"Please, please stop, I'll…"

_Whipped for helping Latvia, beaten and left to die for helping Estonia, shot for daring to tell Belarus the truth, stabbed trying to save Russia. He had died a thousand times._

He dragged his hands across his face, sobbing, screaming - he didn't even know what he was screaming for anymore; was he begging for mercy or crying out for help?

_No one ever managed to help him, and if they did somehow manage to help a little, they also broke another piece of him in the process of saving him. He didn't deserve to be saved, when he only hurt everyone else by trying and failing to help._

The whipping ceased; he remained on his knees, his breath coming in sobbing, hysterical gasps, and he had his hands over his face still, couldn't see, could barely even feel when someone - not Panem, this time, maybe one of the guards - pulled him up, dragged him away.

Halfway back to the prison, he remembered that he had left his shirt behind him, and he really, really wanted that shirt so he could hide the scars, so he wouldn't have to see them, so no one else would have to see them.

If the others could see the scars, he couldn't protect them from what had happened to him.

They threw him into his cell, and Belarus was there, and they collapsed in each other's arms and cried. She was back to apologizing, over and over again, and he wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, but he couldn't, found _himself_ repeating the same words over and again.

"I can't do this, Natalya, not again, I can't…"

"I wish," she said, for a moment strangely calm, "that I had been wrong about everything."

"Everything?"

"I told you one time that you don't get used to torture," she said. "I wish you could have. It would have been better for you. It would not have hurt you so much."

Over time, he'd almost forgotten how much it hurt to be beaten like this, although he'd clearly held onto the knowledge of how much it hurt to have someone pity him when he did not want to be pitied.

He knew he would not be able stand both types of pain at once. He had tried once, and failed.

_"How long until I can't do this anymore?"_


	46. Silence

Chapter Forty-Six: Silence

All crying had been subdued, and there was no sound in the prison on the day after Lithuania had been tortured. Latvia felt this silence oppressively, and he thought that Estonia, standing so quiet and sad at his side, must feel it even worse than he did.

"I want to see him, Raivis," said Estonia. "I want to see Toris."

"Then you may," he said simply. "I don't think Panem can stop you, and if she does…well, she does. But let's take the others' food first. There's no reason to make them suffer, if Panem gets angry at us."

So they took the food, and Latvia found no occasion to linger long in any of the cells, for their inmates were subdued, grieving.

A great sorrow and foreboding had fallen upon them in the wake of Lithuania's torture, perhaps a sort of twisted knowledge that, if kept alive for long, they would be subjected to a similarly terrible torture and would also lose their minds, as Latvia thought that Lithuania soon would.

_"And how to cope with such a thing, with the loss of both brothers?" _he thought. _"Toris's insanity will not be like Eddy's. Eddy's cycles, lapses, relapses. Toris's will stay. He's been hurt too much for it not to stay. When Toris loses his mind he will lose it forever."_

He met Estonia in the kitchen, and without a word, they took the food and went to Lithuania and Belarus's cell, where they were greeted by Belarus, who had been sitting near the doorway, waiting for them.

"Talk to him," she said, gesturing to the corner where Lithuania sat, huddled in a ball as if to shield himself. "Tell him he will be okay and we do not blame him if he is not. He will not _listen_…"

"He never listens," Latvia said, "except when the words he hears are ugly words. He can only hear bad words, never any good ones."

There was a poem in that. He needed paper. He could not suppress the need for poetry any longer. Something had to be done, to deal with all of this. It had gotten worse since she had brought Lithuania here. Now, he had to worry for both his brothers, and the peaceful thought of Lithuania wait for them in heaven was no longer there to comfort him.

He bent, extended his hand to grasp Belarus's, and she took it hesitantly, questioningly.

"He loves you," said Latvia. "He needs you as much as he needs us. Come on."

He pulled her up, slipped his other hand into Estonia's, and together they went to Lithuania, hidden in the corner.

"Toris," he said quietly, and Lithuania uncurled ever so slightly. His back was bare; whip marks still marred the skin, and he had nothing to cover them with.

"Don't," he said. "Go away, Raivis."

"Toris, for _heaven's sake_," Estonia growled, slipping his own shirt off, pushing it into Lithuania's hands. "You know I'm taller than you; you can ask if you need a shirt."

"He has more," Latvia added hurriedly. "Lots more. So take it, Toris. We all know what it means to you."

Lithuania stared at them, his eyes wide, blank, and Latvia, letting go of the others' hands, knelt in front of his brother.

"Come on, Toris," he said. "It's all right. We're with you. We all know it hurts really bad, don't we, Eddy, Miss Belarus?"

A nod from Estonia, a quiet 'yes' from Belarus.

"We're with you," he repeated, and this time no voice spoke to tell him he was lying, because this was not a lie. They - everyone, not just him and Estonia and Belarus - would rally around Lithuania, from whom they all drew strength and courage.

"And if you fall," he said, "we'll still be there. You are not - we are not - created to suffer. We are created to live and sometimes to stumble and fall and get really hurt, because we're really just humans in the end. That's just the way it is. And humans get hurt sometimes. You know this, Toris. You know this."

"Knowing doesn't make it better, Raivis." He wasn't sure who had said it - it could have been any of them.

"No," he said. "But sometimes it helps."

He took the shirt from Lithuania, unclenching fists, unwinding fabric from fingers, and tried to slip the clothing over Lithuania's head, clumsily, because he was not quite tall enough to reach. Estonia, taller, reached over his head to help.

"Thank you," Lithuania whispered, when the scars were covered, and Latvia nodded, grasped his brother's hand tightly and held on. And a moment later his other hand was in Estonia's, Estonia's right hand in Belarus's left, Belarus's right hand in Lithuania's left. A circle. United.

"We're with you."

They stayed there for a long time, until Latvia began to feel that there were holes in their circle, that the circle would not feel right until every nation in the world was there, something that could never happen now. Then, he pulled away, stood up, and turned to leave.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said, and Estonia, recognizing the cue to leave, followed him out of the cell.

"Go back to our room without me, okay?" he said to Estonia. "There's something I have to do."

Estonia looked suspicious, and he hastened to reassure the older boy.

"It's just, it'll just take a few minutes, it's not anything bad. You trust me, right?"

There was hesitancy in Estonia's nod, but at least he did not push Latvia to explain his mission.

"Yes, Raivis. I trust you. But please be careful."

When Estonia had been gone for ten minutes, Latvia shouted Panem's name with an urgency and loudness that he had not known he possessed.

"Panem!"

And then, embarrassed by his loud voice and the fact that most of the prison must have heard him, he waited by the elevator until it hissed open and she stepped out into the corridor.

"The way you screamed, I thought you were being killed," she grumbled, when she saw him standing there, quite unharmed. "What's the matter?"

"I want to talk to you," he said. "By ourselves. I've got to ask you something."

He knew what he wanted was ridiculously selfish when everyone else had too little food and too little water and no way to pass their time except to wait for torture, but he couldn't _think_ about it anymore; he needed to be able to write, to cope, somehow.

They relied on him to stay sane, writing would keep him sane, and thus he rationalized asking Panem for paper and a pen.

Still, he did not want anyone to hear him ask.

She was pleased, as always, that he wanted to talk to her, and she practically skipped as she led him to her room, where they had spoken before and would surely speak again.

And when she closed and locked the door, locked him in with no chance of escape, he sat with her on the bed, probably a little closer than he should have.

"So, what is it now, Raivis?" Panem asked. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm still rejecting all requests that your friends be set free."

"It's nothing like that," he said. "It's…I just…I want something for myself this time."

"Really?" She looked so surprised; had he never asked for anything for himself before? "For yourself?"

"Yes," he said. "I want a notebook, and, and a pen, please."

"Hmm." Her fingers were in his hair again. He was getting _very tired_ of having her fingers always in his hair. "That's an interesting request, Raivis. And why do you want that?"

"Poetry," he said. "I, I write poetry."

"I never knew that," she said quietly, and he thought she sounded a little sad that she'd never known.

"I didn't tell many people," he said. "Only, only a few people knew."

He could count them on one finger - Estonia, Lithuania, Russia. The only three who had known exactly what he was writing, although there had been others who had seen him writing at one time or another, others whose questions he'd avoided.

"I see," she said, and fell silent then, staring at the floor. He watched her, cautiously, waiting, but unable to read her expression from behind the curtain of her hair.

"How about this?" she asked. "You pretend you love me for one whole day and I will give you what you want."

He did love her, sort of; that was another complicated thing that he would have to sort out through poetry. In any case, to act as if he loved her deeply and truly for one day would not be so very hard to do.

"Okay," he said. "One day. Does that day start now?"

"Yes," she said, and for a moment she seemed to be thinking about something else. Then she looked him straight in the eyes, grinned wildly, and stood up.

"Come on," she said. "We're going out."

"Out?" he asked, and he had to bite back the wish that Estonia and Lithuania and all the others could come too, because that was pointless anyways and he was not going to get his notebook that way.

He also did not dare to explain that he'd told Estonia that he would be back soon. She would not take kindly to that.

So he followed her out of the room and pretended not to feel guilt and worry knotting in his stomach.

_"If Eddy finds out about this, what'll he do? He, he, I know he resents me for having privileges and stuff, and he should, since there's no real reason for me to have any privileges at all. But he might really hurt me if he finds out about this. And I shouldn't have asked for something so trivial anyway, when people are suffering all around me…"_

He wasn't sure if the insistent little voice in his head that said he was going to get that notebook so he could keep himself sane, so he could keep the others sane, was lying or trying to reassure him.

* * *

She'd decided that today was the one day of her life that she was going to spend as a normal girl. Latvia had given her that opportunity, and she would most definitely take it, even if it meant dragging a reluctant fifteen year old around clothing stores and cafes - neither of which _she_ really cared that much for - all day long.

Panem had also decided that Latvia needed new clothes, better clothes, cuter clothes, and if she couldn't shop for herself she could, at least, shop for him.

She most certainly only refrained from piling the cart completely full because she was on a very restrictive budget, and she'd need a good bit of money for...other things.

It was really quite fortunate that Latvia knew better than to try and escape, because she lost him in the clothing store, and found him looking at _dresses_, of all things.

"Raivis," she said, standing at the end of the aisle and folding her arms, "what are you doing in the _dress aisle_? You are not a woman."

Being a woman herself, and furthermore, one who would not be caught dead in the dress aisle for anything, she was not sure why _anyone_ wanted to wear a dress, but then again, Latvia might look cute in a dress, he was so tiny, like a little girl almost.

"I was just thinking," Latvia said, turning to watch her, a sort of sad little smile hovering on his face, "about the dresses you used to wear, when you were little. You were really cute in them."

"I hated them," she growled. "And the _braids_, do you remember the goddamn _braids_?"

"I liked them," said Latvia. "And I like this."

He held up a dress, mint green, sleeveless, and surprisingly short. (He'd probably forgotten that most other people were taller than he was.)

"Do you want it?" she asked.

"No!" he burst out, turning red and looking utterly shocked. "I d-don't want to _wear_ it!"

He looked away, away from her and from the dress, down at his shoes, which he kept scuffing against each other awkwardly.

"I'd like it if you would wear it," he whispered. "Like old times, when you were just Perri."

"When I was just Perri?" she echoed. "What-?"

He smiled the forlorn smile again, and turned to place the dress back on the rack, and as he turned Panem made a decision.

_"To hell with it. If that's his way of pretending to love me, I'll play along."_

"Give me the dress, Raivis," she said, and he looked back at her and his eyes went wide. She wondered what kind of poetry he wrote, what came to him when he thought about her or about dresses or anything else in between.

She left him standing wide-eyed in the dress aisle and went to the dressing room, slipped the dress on, and stood for a moment watching herself in the mirror.

"I look," she said, surveying herself with an extreme critical air, "completely ridiculous."

She had been prettier when she was little, a sort of childish pretty, but now she was not quite thin enough, she had not paid proper attention to her hair, and in the almost-sanity that came from spending time with Raivis, she realized that.

She slipped the dress back over her head, tugged her clothes - plain civilian clothes, for once - back over her head.

"Ridiculous," she repeated.

But she bought the dress all the same, even though it cost too much and she would never wear it again.

_"If it can make Raivis love me, I'm willing to waste my money on things like this."_

* * *

She took him to a café, and once they had found a table and ordered what they wanted - what she wanted: huge pieces of cheesecake that Raivis knew they would not be able to finish, and what he wanted: tea to calm his worry - she slipped off to change into the dress. He hadn't expected her to buy it, but she had.

Their table was on the roof, and the waiter brought their deserts and the tea while he was waiting for her to come back, and then left him alone. He took a long, long look at the normal, human world, noticing subtle changes since he had last been out - an abundance of soldiers, a tension on the faces of parents and students and even little children.

This would probably be his last time ever seeing the world like this, he thought, and while he was thinking it, staring out at the world, he heard a cough behind him, and turned, and was struck by the contrast between the tiny girl he had once known, and the woman who now stood before him.

_She wore calico, he noticed, as he bent to look at the person who was under the table and - literally- pulling on his leg. She was also quite cute, her hair in braids, her head tilted questioningly to one side._

"Perri," he said, "you grew up."

She frowned. "Really, Raivis? That's the most _cliché_…"

"I like it," he said hurriedly. "I really, really like it. It's just…"

_"It really fits you too well." _The dress made her look like the near-adult she was, not the child he remembered, and her loose hair only added to the image. The little girl he remembered was gone.

She sat down, tucking silken fabric to the side as she did so.

"I don't like dresses," she said. "They're dumb."

"Well," he said, "I'm dumb, too. My poetry, too - you'll think that's really dumb, when you read it."

"Will you let me read it?" she asked.

"Some of it," he said. "I think it might help you to hear it."

"Ssh," she said, reaching across the table to place a finger on his lips. "No sad things, remember? You're supposed to pretend you love me."

The problem with Panem was that he didn't _have_ to pretend. He wished he was pretending. If loving her was just a game of pretend, everything would be so much less complicated.

In the silky green dress, sitting at this pretty table, sipping her tea, she looked like the girl he'd imagined on dreaming, desperate days back in the Soviet house. He'd dreamed, in those days, of someday meeting a girl who would go with him to places like this, to places beyond pain and sadness, who would sit and talk about poetry and all the ridiculous, trivial things that he loved - and that she would love, too.

He had never imagined that that girl would come to him in the form of the woman who had destroyed his world and all he held dear.

* * *

They went back to her room at the end of the day, Panem still wearing the green dress, Latvia following silently.

"Am I going to sleep here?" he asked, and she had to give him credit for coming to that conclusion on his own.

"Well, a day _is _twenty-four hours," she said. "But I still won't do anything to you, though you have to stay. I don't want that, yet."

_"I want you to love me, really and truly, and if you won't do that, I'll have to force you to pretend forever. But until that becomes the only option, I'll give you a little more time."_

He climbed on her bed and sat in the middle of it, looking up at the ceiling, which seemed to Panem to be a thousand miles above him. Latvia seemed very small and alone, sitting alone on the wide bed, looking up at the tall dark ceiling.

"It's very dark in here, Perri," he said.

"You don't like the dark, do you?" she asked.

"No," he said. "But at least it's warm. When we were with Russia, my room…well, my room was really dark and cold. Lonely, too. I shared with Estonia and Lithuania at the beginning, but then we caused too much trouble, so Russia separated us."

He paused.

"It was easier to hide the poetry from everyone when I had my own room," he said. "And the cold wasn't so bad. The attic was worse than my room, so after I stayed in the attic for a while, my room seemed really nice and warm."

"Why were you in the attic?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, I was being bad, or something," he said vaguely. "I don't really remember that part, honestly. It was the part after he let me go downstairs again that was so important, because it messed us all up forever."

He was sort of breaking the rules, but she'd also never heard the full story from him, and she _wanted_ the full story, because of all the nations' stories, there was none she cared more about than Latvia's.

"Tell me about it," she said.

He glanced at her, cautiously. "But is that…?"

"No," she said. "I want to hear it. So tell me."

She flopped down on the bed, fabric rustling as she did, and when she looked up at Latvia his face was very thoughtful and sad.

"I was really very childish then," he said. "You know, because it was easier to act like a little kid, to let other people protect me because I was so small and weak. I don't think I realized until the end that I had to be, to be stronger than that because they couldn't be anymore. Because they were all messed up and broken."

"What's it like, having brothers who care?"

He turned his round, sorrowful eyes on her.

"Like heaven and also hell," he said. "Because if people care for you, you start to care a lot about them, too. You know that, of course, don't you, Perri? You care for me because I was nice to you back then, so I guess you must know. When Eduard and Toris protected me…it was really, really nice, to feel like someone loved me enough to take a beating for me. But then, it got to where it was sad, because it turned out they weren't as strong as I'd thought. I'd practically taken advantage of them, and that was a really awful feeling. But, through all of it, there was a feeling that, at least, even if they were totally torn apart…they loved me, and I loved them too. That's what family is, Perri. Loving each other no matter what. Even though some of us did bad things, we couldn't help loving each other, because we were family, and that's what family does."

"If I'd been part of your family," she said, staring up at the ceiling, "would you still be afraid of me? Or would you love me?"

"I do love you," he said. "It's not about being afraid of you or not. Same with Eddy. 'Love' and 'fear' are kind of intermingled sometimes, when I look at you and him. That comes with being human. We do both bad and good. But we still have to, to love each other despite the wrong things we did."

"And why not take revenge?" she asked. "Why not kill everyone who hurt you? Isn't that simpler?"

"Because that would mean taking advantage of your own humanity to punish other people's humanity. I think, maybe sometimes, it's necessary to take a life. But that doesn't make it the right thing to do. And murdering someone in vengeance is just…it's just turning yourself into a bad person because of a bad thing that they did. It doesn't solve anything, because then another person might decide to take revenge on you, and it would just keep going like that until…until there was nobody left on earth, I guess."

She reached up, grabbed his hand, pulled him down next to her on the bed.

"You really are a poet," she said. "You have so many words inside you, I don't think you'll ever figure out what do with them all."

"I don't think I will," he said. "But, Perri?"

"Yeah, what?"

"If I can use those words to try and tell you things I need you to know, I'll always be glad that I have so many words inside me. Because I love you, and I want you to know all the things that I think are really important to grasp, even if you'll never believe these words I keep spouting pointlessly."

She laughed.

"You're hopeless, do you know that, Raivis?"

"Yes," he said. "But I like to think that someday, even my hopeless words will mean something to you."

His words could not mean anything to her now, not when she had come so far, and she did not want them to take on any meaning. She wanted to go on with her guiltless, merciless killing of everyone who had wronged her. She would not stop for anyone, not even for him.

But she clasped his hand tightly for a while and lay still, listening as his breath slowed and he drifted away into the realm of his dreams.

"You're hopeless," she repeated, sitting up, watching him as he lay curled up, asleep on her bed. He was so small, his hair falling his eyes, and she brushed the hair back, away from his sleeping face, and then, covering him with her blanket, she stood up and left the room.

There was business to be done, and torture to be attended to.

* * *

His whole body ached with every movement he made, and he was terribly thirsty. Feverish, too; he was almost sure of it. There was most certainly sickness in his prison cell.

Although he was a favorite toy of theirs, the guards never came for him at night. Sometimes, before Lithuania had come, they had gone to Belarus's cell at night, but that did not happen anymore, and Iceland was grateful. He was grateful that the prison stayed silent at night now. Perhaps he could rest in peace for a while, perhaps sleep could grant new life, or, at least, expel the awful flashes of hot and cold that plagued him so frequently.

He was so thirsty that it was hard to get to sleep. At home, he would have been tossing and turning, but here he could only hang in the chains, trying not to cry from the pain and frustration.

Warriors did not cry. If he wanted to make it to Valhalla or _whatever_ came after this, he had to be brave.

The cell door squeaked open, and in an awful, delirious moment, he nearly called out Latvia's name, before he remembered that it was nighttime and whoever was there probably meant to harm him.

The lights were always on, although they were dim, and he looked up and could clearly see Panem standing there. She had something in her hand, what looked suspiciously like a needle and thread, although they were oversized, although the needle looked suspiciously sharp.

"Hello, Eirikur," she said, and he forced himself to raise his head, as if he were still proud and strong. She seemed to find it funny.

"Now, let's not play silly games," she said. "You won't be looking half so proud when I'm done here. You see, Eirikur..." She was playing with the needle, if it even was a needle. "...I have something in store for you. A special punishment all your own. I'll never, never do this to anyone else, as long as I live. I've already decided that."

"Do your worst," he spat, and she laughed and came over to stand in front of him, smiling.

"I will do my worst, and more," she said. "But here, listen to my judgment on you."

He did not give her the dignity of receiving a reply from him.

"Eirikur," she said, "I pass judgment upon you in the name of the sovereign nation of Panem, and name the sin for which you are to be condemned. Your sin is your ingratitude and unkindness to all those who loved you."

He knew that already, and he also knew that she was right, but still her next words startled him.

"As punishment for your sin, your mouth will be sewn shut, so that you can never say an unkind word again."

The dignified manner of his face and speech cracked and melted away, and she smiled a twisted, almost ironic smile.

"Any last words?"

_"I'm sorry for everything,"_ Iceland did not say, because he knew by now that she would never accept his apology, and he did not want his last words to be scoffed at.

"Do your worst," he repeated instead, and she did. He could never have described the feeling afterwards, even if he had still had the ability to speak. It hurt, but it was a strange hurt, to feel one's own mouth sewn up slowly.

He did not behave like a warrior, for it was hard not to cry out, and cry out he did, although his cries grew fainter and fainter until he could no longer utter a single sound, and Panem stood back to admire her handiwork.

"You look," she said, "like a circus clown."

And he felt like a coward, for surely heroes did not die of fever and thirst, tied up in a prison cell with their mouths sewn shut.

But, then again, he could not know for sure, for he was not a hero, and how could anyone who was not a hero know what it was that made heroes what they were?

But surely a scared little boy with tears rolling down his face as he awaited death could never be a hero.

* * *

**First off, regarding everything involving Panem and Latvia in this chapter, no, I don't know why. It was her idea. As usual. *sigh* But I needed filler, so you all get weird angsty PanLat. I guess. I'm still not really sure.**

**That aside, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and if you'd like to leave a review, I'd very much appreciate it. I hope you all have/are having a wonderful weekend!**


	47. Lullaby

Chapter Forty-Seven: Lullaby

Latvia woke in the morning to find Panem sitting next to him, and wondered if she had been watching him sleep. It was a slightly disturbing thought.

"Have I been asleep a long time?" he asked, and she leaned forward and kissed his forehead softly.

"It's late," she said. "Here, this is yours."

She handed him a notebook, and for a moment he held it in his hands, staring at it, running his fingers over the cover. It was black, spiral-bound, page after empty page waiting for his words.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, and she smiled, pleased with his happiness.

"My only condition is that you let me read your poetry," she said, and he nodded.

"I will. Thank you, P-Perri."

"Yeah, you're welcome," she said. "Now get down to the prison; Eduard's already been down and gone back, and he also probably thinks I've killed you, so you'd best go feed the others and then go to him before he kills himself or someone else."

He nodded, and, clutching the notebook, climbed off the bed onto the floor. Panem pulled him close, holding him for a moment, and he remembered a time when she had smelled like pine trees, like clean, vibrant forests where he could write and wander unseen.

Now she smelled like roses, too sweet and too strong for his liking, and when she let go, he went away without another word. He missed the smell of pine trees. Roses smelled like insanity.

He made his way down to the prison, saw the plates sitting out on the counter, and in the middle, where Iceland's plate should be, there was nothing, merely an empty space, and he felt horror rise within him.

_"She said I was asleep for a long time…what did she…?"_

"Eirikur!" he shouted, and then he was running, forgetting the food, running to Iceland's cell, throwing open the door and screaming his friend's name again. "Eirikur, are you okay?" Iceland hung limp in the chains, but his head shot up when Latvia entered, and for a minute Latvia didn't realize what was wrong, only knew that Iceland was not answering him.

Then he saw the stitches, and he had no idea how she'd managed it, but he was sure she'd done it while he'd been asleep, sure she was doing this to punish him for _something_.

"No," he said. "No, no way. Nobody does that."

It sounded like something America would say, or Italy, and that was how he knew that he was denying it and that it was pointless to deny it.

"So…so she's going to let you starve to death like that?" he asked. "I didn't…I didn't think she'd do that. Not after China. I don't understand. Why did she do it?"

Iceland couldn't answer, he knew that, but he _needed an answer_ and he shrieked her name, demanding she come and explain this, and he swore she'd been waiting in the hallway, because all of a sudden she was in the cell, long before she could have made it from her room.

"Why did you do it?" he screamed. "After I was nice to you, too! What did I do wrong? I'll fix it, just, just don't…"

"Raivis, Raivis, calm down…" She was trying to soothe him, to calm him, but he was angry, angry that he'd let her kiss him and shower him with gifts after she'd hurt Iceland, and he batted her hand away and kept shouting, because she couldn't hurt him, and they both knew that.

"You're a _murderer_ and I _don't love you_! I love Eddy and Eirikur and everyone else, and I loved _Perri_, but I do not love Panem, I will _never _love Panem, so if you want me to love you then you'd better stop acting like a psychopath!"

She drew back suddenly, her eyes icy, voice cold.

"Good job, Raivis. I'm glad you feel that way, because I had my suspicions you did. How about this? Maybe, if I don't let you see Eirikur or anyone else ever again, you'll love me! How about it, Raivis? Do you want to be locked up?"

"No!" he screamed. "No, that's not what I want and you know it! But, but I'll do it, Panem, if it'll make you happy, I'll stay with you forever just please let the others go!"

"If you could choose two people for me to release, who would it be?" Panem asked, sharply, and just a few days earlier he could have answered in an _instant_, but now, with Lithuania here, he didn't know, and she was probably tricking him anyway so he shouldn't _answer_.

"Eduard, right?" Panem asked. "And Eirikur here; you'd want him to be released, now, so you could save him."

"But Toris, too," he whispered, and she shook her head.

"I couldn't possibly release Toris. He's far too useful, you know that. But Eduard and Eirikur will both be released soon. Don't doubt that."

And in her tone, in the way she said it, and in seeing Iceland's mutilated face, he recognized her true meaning, and there was nothing he could say to dissuade her.

"Why do you do this?" he asked, sinking to his knees, holding his head in his hands, too tired to even_ try_ to be strong.

"Because it's fun," said Panem. "Now go, Raivis. Eduard's breaking things, and I really don't feel like replacing your furniture. Someone else can feed the others. Oh, and tomorrow will be your last day seeing all of them, so I hope you're prepared for that."

She did not say it, but he heard it as clearly as if she had.

_"Tomorrow, Eddy dies. And when Eddy dies she no longer has any reason to refrain from taking me. Tomorrow Eddy dies, and I become Panem's toy."_

He was too broken-hearted to protest, let alone to cry. He could not stop her, anyway.

* * *

Latvia was gone, gone, gone, and he knew Panem wouldn't kill the boy, but what if Latvia had killed himself? What if Latvia had tried to run away? Would Panem have killed him then?

He couldn't focus, couldn't even try to think of a logical explanation for his little brother's disappearance.

_"What if he really did kill himself?_" the voices in his head taunted. _"What if he killed himself because he wanted to get away from you?"_

They'd been doing this for hours, taunting him, insisting that Latvia had killed himself to get away, because he was too weak to bear the burden Estonia had placed on him by being such an utterly worthless person.

He remembered when Latvia had thought _he_ was dead, the day the boy had torn the kitchen and their room apart, and considered doing the same thing.

It seemed far more plausible to tear himself apart, not the room. He'd caused enough damage to the physical world already. It would be much better for everyone if he permanently damaged himself, so that Panem could not manipulate him into further insanity, into hurting anyone else.

How to hurt himself in this place was a question he could not quite answer. He tried to think of what Lithuania would do, and in that moment came another flash of terrible, blinding guilt as he thought of how deeply his brother had been hurt the previously day.

"I want it to stop," he muttered. "Someone has to make it stop. Could I make it stop? Do demons have that power?"

He wanted the lights off. He wanted it to be dark; demons were supposed to live in the dark he needed to be in the dark.

He picked up the lamp on the table between his bed and Latvia's and hurled it to the ground. It shattered, broken pieces of glass going everywhere. A larger fragment cut his hand as he bent and picked it up, and in the light from the barred window, he watched the blood drip from the small wound, wondering.

"It works for Toris," he mused. "It should work for me."

"Eduard!"

He looked up without thinking, certain that it had to be a hallucination or a dream. But there Latvia stood, looking quite alive. He had something in his hand, a book, Estonia thought. He was also completely unharmed.

"Raivis?" He felt blinding relief for an instant, happiness that his brother was alive. And then the feelings of jealousy and betrayal set in, the suspicion that the book in Latvia's hand had something to do with his long absence.

"Where did you get that book?" he asked coldly, and Latvia flinched visibly.

"Eddy, please…"

"Where did you get it, Raivis?" he snapped, and the boy cowered back, shivering.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I knew you'd be mad but I…I…"

"Tell me," he said, standing up, barely hearing the crunch of glass under his shoes as he stepped across to Latvia. "Tell me now."

"Panem gave it to me." Latvia swallowed, a note of panic coming into his voice. "She, she…. I know I shouldn't have asked, Eddy, but, but I wanted it so that I could try to write again, to try and stay sane so I can take care of everybody and _I'm sorry I didn't tell you but I was afraid you'd get mad_."

"You were right," he said. "I am mad."

Latvia barely even whimpered when he struck him.

"I'll walk across the shards," he offered, his voice shaking. "Since…since you broke the lamp because of me, I'll walk across the shards so you don't have to."

How many times had he had to hold Latvia down while Lithuania tried in vain to pick all the shards out of his mangled feet? How many times had he tried to protect Latvia from punishment? What was he thinking, being angry at his brother for doing something ever so slightly selfish for a purely selfless reason?

"I'm sorry, Raivis," he whispered, and he realized that he had had the glass shard in the hand he'd used to strike his brother, that there was blood running down Latvia's face.

"Eddy, your hand is hurt," Latvia said, and, impulsively, Estonia closed his hand on the glass shard and squeezed, as hard as he could, feeling blood trickle between his fingers.

"No!" Latvia shouted. "Eduard, no! Don't! Stop! I'm not mad at you, stop!" He was trying to pry Estonia's fingers open, and Estonia _wanted_ Latvia to take the glass away, because he had the sudden urge to rake the glass across his eyes, across his face, in punishment.

He wrenched his hand away from Latvia, brought it up to his face, but before he could bring it down across his cheek, Latvia screamed.

"She's going to kill you tomorrow anyway please stop!"

He froze, and suddenly he couldn't hold on to anything, and the piece of glass fell to the floor.

"Eddy, you're going to die," Latvia whispered. "I don't want to remember you hurting yourself, please…"

"How do you know she's going to kill me?" he asked.

"She told me, told me I'd say goodbye to the others tomorrow," Latvia said, sounding strangled and agonized. "And before that, she said that after you died, I wouldn't get to see anyone anymore. So she's gonna kill you t-tomorrow, maybe Eirikur too… I'm sorry, Eddy, I don't…"

Latvia was shaking worse than he ever had, worse than in the Soviet house or any time since they had escaped. As Estonia stared at him, trying and failing to process his words, the tiny boy's legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, still shivering.

"Raivis…come here."

He gathered Latvia into his arms, feeling how thin the boy was - had he been starving himself? - feeling how deeply the small boy was shaking.

"Rai, have you been eating?" he asked.

"I had cheesecake yesterday," Latvia mumbled. "Please don't hate me."

"I'm not going to hate you for eating cheesecake."

_"It would be idiotic to get mad at you now, when I'm about to die."_

Latvia was trying to apologize again, and Estonia laid him on the bed nearest to the window and climbed up next to him, curling around his small brother.

"Raivis, I am not angry with you," he said. "The insane part of me is angry. That's wrong. You have a right to enjoy things. You're a human being and if you're allowed to still have happiness then _take it_."

"I didn't know she was going to kill you," Latvia whispered. "I wouldn't have done anything she asked if I'd…"

"Please," Estonia said, "don't apologize for my death. It hasn't happened yet. You might be wrong."

"Perri never lies," Latvia insisted.

_"I don't want to die."_ It took everything in him not to break down sobbing, to stay strong for his brother, who was trying so hard to be strong and failing because he was, after all, physically just a child. Mentally, he was much more, but even the mental strength of centuries could not stabilize them, with their childish forms.

"I know," he said, and then there was a long, deep silence, as they both thought their own secret, sad thoughts.

"Do you know how she plans to do it, Raivis?" he asked.

"No. I'm sorry, Eddy. I couldn't ask."

"It's fine." There was so much pain building up in his chest, centuries' worth of agony and fear combined with the thought of impending death. "Will you…will you be all right for a few minutes?"

Latvia nodded. "Yes."

They both knew that he was going away to cry, but Latvia had the decency not to comment. They would both grieve easier, would both be able to come to terms with this more quickly, if they did not have to stay strong for each other.

"Then I'll be back later," he said.

He leaned forward and kissed the top of Latvia's head, and it could have meant anything once, but now it did not matter whether it was brotherly love or romantic attraction.

_"I will die tomorrow. Forever. There can be no return this time."_

He couldn't imagine a death with no return, a death with no nightmares, just nothingness. Maybe it wouldn't be nothingness, maybe it would be something else_. He_ certainly didn't know.

He locked the bathroom door and tried to breathe, but he couldn't, not now that he was out of Latvia's sight and didn't have to protect his brother from his pain.

"I don't want to die," he whispered. "I mean, I do, but…"

_"When it comes down to it, I shrink away from death. I'm not someone who can face death boldly. I'll cry and scream and plead. Even if it will free me, I don't want to die."_

He didn't know what to do with all the pain building up inside him, but he had to get rid of it somehow, somehow, so he could face tomorrow without crying.

He clamped his hands over his mouth and screamed.

* * *

She wanted to tell him that she knew he wasn't dead, but if she did, if she consciously acknowledged it, she might not be able to cope if he got hurt again.

He'd been huddled in the corner of the cell since Panem had whipped him, crying sometimes, shaking others, mostly whispering "I can't do this" over and over again until she'd memorized the desperation in the words as clearly as she'd memorized the tape of his screams.

And she knew, from the way he'd reacted, that he was real. He was not a ghost; he was the real flesh and blood Lithuania, and she couldn't help him. She'd never been able to help him; she'd ruined him, without a doubt.

"Toris?" she asked, softly - she'd been keeping her distance from him for a while, but it didn't seem to be helping, and maybe if she went to him, he'd feel better.

His voice, when he spoke to her, was very soft and gentle, but hoarse and pained as well.

"Natalya?"

"Can I sit with you?" she asked, and he nodded hesitantly.

He was wearing Estonia's shirt, and it wasn't terribly big on him, but it was big enough that it hid the unnatural thinness of his body. Even when he'd been free of Panem, he must have been eating less than he should have been.

"We should have cleaned your wounds," she said. "I should have thought of that while the others were here."

"I can do it tomorrow," he said, his voice muffled and shaking.

"Are you scared?" she asked.

"N…"

"Don't lie," she said sharply. "I'm very tired of you lying because you think it will somehow help me. It won't. Please do not try to protect me with your lies ever again."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

_"It's mine, for ignoring your pain for so long and then for making it worse. Please forgive me, Toris."_

"I can't handle this," he whispered, his voice so soft she could barely hear him. "I think I'm going to go insane. I…I can't…every time she hit me I remembered, and…"

All at once it hit her that she could help him now, because ghost or not, he couldn't deal with this alone. He no longer had the ability to cope. And she could comfort him, maybe, or at least ease the pain a little.

"I will help you," she said. "Maybe you can't get through it alone, but as long as I'm here, you won't have to."

This time, she was holding him. This time, he let her help him, and this time, she felt as if she really could.

In the silence as she held Lithuania close, she became aware of screaming somewhere far away.

"Do you hear that?" she asked Lithuania. He nodded, his face tight and drawn.

"It's Alfred. He's been screaming for hours now."

She listened harder, heard the apology in his words, and remembered the lonely, agonized hours when she had screamed for Lithuania's forgiveness with no reply. America did not deserve to blame himself like this, not when they were all equally to blame.

"We have to reach him," she murmured. "He needs to know he's not alone."

She lifted her voice and shouted his name.

* * *

Every one of Lithuania's screams echoed in America's head, and he couldn't get away from the sound. He'd been trying, trying desperately to get the echoes out of his head, and now he was screaming because it at least helped block out the self-loathing thoughts, even if the pain did not diminish.

"Why doesn't she torture me?" he screamed at the walls of his cell, because there was nothing else to scream at.

He wanted to die for what had happened to Lithuania, for what had happened to everyone.

"I know that I deserve to die for getting all of you into this! She should have tortured me! And I'm sorry she didn't! I wish she would! I wish she'd kill me and let you guys go!"

He was apologizing to everyone who could hear him; he _knew_ they could hear him. In the only way he could, he screamed his apology.

"I didn't mean for this to happen to Toris! It doesn't give me an excuse, but…but I didn't mean to!"

His voice had been rising for hours, and now it was an almost monstrous, hoarse sound. He broke off, coughing, recovering himself in time to hear the muffled shouting from somewhere else, from another cell.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but this is Italy! I've been trying to tell you for a long time; my voice is getting pretty tired, but I'll try one more time! My friends -and me, too - did some pretty bad things, you know? At least, I think we did… But I'm not mad at you, no matter what I did or didn't do in the past. It's okay! And if you hear me, listen harder! Other people are calling for you, too!"

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and listened more closely.

"Alfred, this is Basch… Roderich and I don't blame you for this… I had a sister too, should have seen the signs… Roderich doesn't trust his voice, but he tells you to be strong…"

"If there is anyone to blame for what has happened to Toris, it is I. Do not blame yourself for things that are my doing!" How could he ever have thought Russia's repentance anything less than genuine? How had he missed the sorrow in his voice for all these years?

And then, finally, a sad, broken voice from just across the hallway.

"Alfred? Natalya's been yelling so long her voice is hoarse. You were too upset to hear us before. I don't blame you. I c-can't cope with it, that's t-true, but it's not your fault. You're doing your best. We're with you. I don't blame you. E-everyone makes mistakes. It's just important that you learn from them. Please don't let them destroy you."

Lithuania, who knew better than all of them what it felt like to destroy yourself through blame, still trying to help others despite his own pain, still trying to be sure that no one else suffered as he did. Through his own self-hate, America felt a stab of gratitude towards the boy who hated himself more than anyone else ever could.

"Thank you," he sobbed, and then he was crying, and as he did, a little of the pain left his chest and vanished into the air. "Thank you all. It m-means a lot. Y-you guys are heroes. All of you. Thank you."

And through the walls came one last answer, this time from Belarus.

"You are also a hero, Alfred. Be strong!"

* * *

**So yeah. Things should get interesting next chapter, I guess? I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and as always, reviews are much appreciated. :)**

**...aaaaaand edited because I forgot Iceland can't talk, thank you Firebird for pointing that out. xD**


	48. Broken Wings

Chapter Forty-Eight: Broken Wings

The morning came bright, but cold. Estonia emerged from the bathroom, rubbing the last traces of the night's pain off his face, to see Latvia standing at the window, his fingers outstretched to touch the glass.

"I can reach it now," he whispered without looking at Estonia. "I'm getting taller, or my arms are longer, or something."

Then he turned to Estonia, and Estonia saw in Latvia's wide violet eyes the story of last night, which had doubtless been as painful for Latvia as it had been for him.

"It's cold," Latvia said. "Winter's coming, Eddy. It was warm two days ago, but now winter's coming."

He remembered Russia, remembered how it always seemed to be winter, remembered how he had longed for sunshine and for a spring which never seemed to come. He remembered how they had all lost themselves there, in wintertime, as the sun shone outside without melting the snow on the ground or the ice in their hearts.

_"And as our souls were destroyed in winter, so too should I die in winter. Winter cannot heal, not like summer can. Winter can only destroy."_

He still hoped it was a mistake, but he did not think Latvia would have lied to him, and thought it even less likely that Panem would lie to Latvia.

Still, knowing he would die did not mean that he was reconciled to it, although he had wanted death when it had been out of reach.

"Eduard, I'm scared," said Latvia. "I'm really scared."

He couldn't be angry at Latvia for being scared, even if he wasn't the one who was going to die. They both knew that Latvia's torment would only get worse once he was gone.

_"Once I'm dead, there will be no one left to keep Panem away from him."_

"I know," he said. "I am too. But there's nothing we can do except…e-except to go, and face it with dignity."

He would never be able to keep himself from screaming, and he didn't want to be remembered like that, begging for Panem to stop hurting him. He still wanted, despite the knowledge that it was not to be, to be remembered as a hero.

_"There are no heroes in this world. They are gone forever."_

The door opened, and without a word, Estonia grabbed Latvia's hand, turned from the window, and walked toward Panem and toward his death.

* * *

It was chaos in the conference room. It was the same room where England had died, for once they were the last to arrive, and yet, it was even worse to arrive last than it was to wait for everyone else to come, because Latvia had to take everything in all at once, in its full horror.

America was sitting still and rigid, staring at the tabletop, and he looked up when they came in, and Latvia could see that he didn't know who was going to die, because he looked at them like he had a question that they might be able to answer. Latvia smiled what he hoped was a comforting smile, not an agonized one, and gripped Estonia's hand tighter. His brother was shaking now, and he was shaking too, but he could still feel Estonia's tremors, which were deeper than his own.

Once, he would have been the only one shaking. He hated seeing Estonia like this. He hated seeing all of them like this - America, blank-face and terrified, Lithuania, hunched over in his chair, Iceland with his lips sewn and swollen, Austria refusing to look at any of them.

He noticed that they were all in little groups, unofficial of course, but groups. Switzerland next to Austria, holding his hand. Italy, in between Austria and Iceland, paying far more attention to Iceland, petting his hair and chattering away at him. Before his eyes could wander to the others, Latvia remembered something, with a terrible, desperate jolt.

"Eddy, let me sit next to Eirikur," he said. "I…I need to say something to him, okay?"

Estonia nodded, almost robotically, and then he sunk into an empty chair next to America, leaving the chair closest to Iceland for Latvia. Latvia slid into the chair next to his friend, noticing that Iceland's eyes were clouded and sick.

"Eirikur, I have paper," he whispered, pressing a pencil and a sheet torn from his notebook into the boy's hand. "If…if you want to say something…"

Iceland looked up at him tiredly, and he couldn't smile, really, not with the stitches hampering him, but he nodded and bent over the paper, leaving Latvia to watch the others.

Estonia and America were lost in their own thoughts, Belarus huddled small and shaking with her jacket around her, casting worried glances at Lithuania. Russia was talking to Lithuania, who nodded tiredly a few times, and, once, shook his head vigorously, denying something Russia had said. Latvia watched them, and for a moment he thought that America had somehow become part of the family. But that was like replacing Ukraine and the others who were no longer there, so he shook the thought away and turned back to Iceland, who was almost finished writing.

_I'm not at peace with this. _Iceland's handwriting was shaky, like a child's. It must have been months since he'd had to write anything; there was neither reason nor occasion to write in prison.

_I'm not at peace, but I think this is the best thing that can happen. I'm already sick, possibly fatally, and she hasn't run tests or anything, but I'm sure she knows I'm sick. This isn't the most painful way I could go. I'd rather die of thirst than slowly, of infection, and that's setting in, you know that. As for the method_

Iceland stopped writing, sighed, and then continued, Latvia watching, hanging onto every written word.

_I don't know to feel. My folklore - my family's folklore - talks about something like this. I don't know how to feel, but there are worse ways to die. It's fitting, as she said, for someone who has only spoken unkind words._

Italy was watching too, brown eyes wide and somber, and he squeezed Iceland's hand comfortingly.

"I don't think you've been unkind," he said. "At least, not to me."

Iceland shook his head, and Latvia felt a wave of desperation and sadness wash over them all.

"We could cut the stitches," he suggested, and again, Iceland shook his head and began to write.

_She'd only sew me up again. Leave it be._

Latvia wanted to protest, to tell Iceland that they could fix it, somehow, but they couldn't, they all knew that, and as he opened his mouth he looked into Iceland's eyes and realized how much the boy was struggling to keep from crying.

Protest would get them nowhere, and the futility of trying would only make their pain worse. He slipped his hand into Iceland's, squeezing it tightly, holding the silver-haired boy to the mortal world in the only way he could. Iceland still could do very little with his mouth, but Latvia thought he tried to smile. Then he took his hand away and wrote one, seemingly final line.

_Please talk about heaven. I'm scared. I don't think I'll get to go there._

And Latvia, who himself could not believe that they would reach heaven, drew in a deep breath, and, summoning the poet within him, spoke hopeful words of heaven and of sunlight until Panem came to chase all their fragile hopes away.

* * *

America tried not to panic - could anyone tell he was panicking? Lithuania could, he was sure, but then, Lithuania was panicking so much himself that America didn't think he would notice. Lithuania was practically on the verge of tears, and he looked confused and terrified.

"Toris," he hissed, "she just tortured you; she won't do it again. She likes to spread it out. It's okay."

"Not for him," Russia answered. "It is not okay for him whether or not he is the victim. It will hurt him either way."

Russia put his arm around Lithuania, trying in vain to comfort him. America kept his gaze on the tabletop after that, but he could sense Panem circling the table, watching them, as if choosing a target. She _had_ to be choosing a target. This was the same room where England had died, the same room where he had been forced to murder his brother. She was going to make him do the same thing to someone else, he was sure of that even before she spoke.

"Many of you are aware of what has already taken place in this room, and have probably come to suspect that a similar proceeding is under way. For those who do not know, I am sure your neighbors will enlighten you."

"What happened?" None of them had the heart to answer Russia, and Belarus was starting to look confused, as if she was remembering America's insistence that England was in fact Lithuania's ghost.

"England died here," Latvia announced at last, and suddenly not even Russia had anything else to say. The tall man sank back in his chair, shaking his head, and even he looked terrified now.

"What are you going to do to us?" Switzerland snapped. "What can you do that you haven't already done?"

Panem laughed. "I can do a great deal, although perhaps not to you, Basch. My interest today is not in you. Alfred!"

He really hated it when people shouted his name. They were almost always angry with him. He'd never been scared of angry people before this prison, before Panem. He'd always shrugged them off as if they were a joke, just as he had shrugged off his sister's pain before now.

He tried to ignore her, but of course she wouldn't have that.

"Alfred! Look at me or I will make this game even less enjoyable for you."

_"Why does everything have to be a game? I'm never going to look at games the same way, even if I do get out of here. Which…isn't going to happen, is it? I don't see how it could."_

He forced himself to look at Panem, and he wondered how his eyes looked to her. Hers looked wildly overjoyed, too happy for someone who was planning to make him commit murder, plotting to destroy his world even more fully than she already had.

She began to speak, and he stared at her, and he realized that everyone else was staring at her, too, as if waiting for her judgment.

"Today, Alfred, there are two things that I wish you to do. The rest of you are here as a witnesses, and two of you are here as victims."

He heard Estonia whimper behind him, but still he did not dare to take his eyes off Panem.

"However," Panem said, and here was the catch, the failsafe she never failed to write in, "if Alfred does not comply with my wishes, there will be more victims. Time is short, and I'm getting impatient. I won't hesitate to speed your deaths if it suits my purpose. Alfred, do you understand what will happen if you fail to obey me?"

_"If I fail, she'll kill innocent people to punish me, just like she did to Japan."_

He nodded slowly, almost robotically, and Panem smiled.

"Then, as I have said, you have two tasks. The first and simplest task is to shoot Italy, Austria, or Switzerland in the head. You are free to choose between them."

"If he shoots me, will I wake up from this crazy dream?" Italy blurted, and Iceland, unable to speak, shook his head frantically, the panic in his eyes more than enough of a substitute for the words that could never come.

Switzerland cursed in the background, his face grim and pale. "Alfred, I swear, if you shoot either of these two, I'll never forgive you. I'll kill you!"

He knew Switzerland wouldn't, couldn't do it, but it sounded so good, being killed in the place of the others. He wished he could be the one to die. He couldn't choose between them. How could he? He sat unmoving in his chair, staring at his hands as if ignoring the problem could make it go away.

"Alfred?" Panem tapped her fingertips on the tabletop. "I'm not going to wait all day."

"You have to do it," Estonia's voice was low. "Can you? No, that's not… Alfred, listen, you _have to_. If you can't kill one of them, there's no way…"

"Eduard, no spoilers!" Panem shouted, and Estonia broke off, shaking his head.

"Just get it over with, Alfred."

He knew he had to do it, but how could he choose?

He forced himself to look at them. At Italy, who watched him with round, somber eyes that seemed to accept and deny all of this, all at once. Italy wouldn't understand. Italy still thought all of this was a dream.

Switzerland was on his feet, grim and pale and angry, glaring at him, and he knew the blond man would hate him if he chose one of the others. But Switzerland was also the most likely to be okay if they did get out, not just of those he had to choose from, but out of all the surviving nations.

And Austria stared at him for a moment in silence, and then, standing up slowly, as if even that motion was insanely difficult, he placed his hands - what was left of them - on the table. And America understood why Latvia had told them all to stay away from Austria, even as the echoes of the other nation's music echoed in his mind.

"I have nothing to live for," said Austria. "So you might as well kill me. I'd rather be killed than let anything happen to Basch or Feliciano. In fact, that would be true whether or not I had any reason to live."

"Roderich, no!" Switzerland sounded so _hurt_, and America hated himself for having to choose between them - because the choice was between those two, he was sure of that now, sure he couldn't shoot Italy, who didn't understand that this would be a real and final death.

And yet beyond Switzerland's pain, there was strength and, maybe, the ability to keep fighting, and America could tell from the slump of Austria's shoulders and the way he stood, defeated, that there was no such fight left in him.

"This is the worst thing ever," America whispered, and his voice broke, and then he was crying. "I'm sorry," he wailed. "I'm so sorry!"

"Alfred, this is not the time!" Estonia snapped, and the boy reached over and actually shook him, hard and with a seemingly impossible fury. "I know you're hurting, I know you're sorry; we all know! But Panem won't accept that! So you have to do this, no apologies, nothing! Just get it over with! Please…"

He didn't understand why Estonia looked so desperate, but he nodded through his tears, and then Panem pressed a gun into his hand.

"Choose," she said, and he did. He already had. And he walked around the table to where Austria and Switzerland stood, hating himself for being logical _now_, when he had never been before, but knowing that, at least, Austria wouldn't resent him for it.

"You know I can't kill both of you, right?" he asked, and then he leveled the gun - or tried, his hands were shaking so badly that it was nearly impossible - at Austria's head.

"No!" Switzerland's scream tore through the room, all the more disturbing because of the agony in his normally calm voice. "Don't! I'll…I'll…"

Panem, callous even now, beckoned to the soldiers who stood unflinching at the door. "Restrain him."

They grabbed Switzerland's arms, pulling him back, away from Austria, and all of a sudden _Austria_ started panicking, turning to Switzerland, his broken hands outstretched.

"Wait, don't! Don't hurt him!"

"They're not hurting him, Roderich," said someone from behind America, but obviously, Austria wasn't listening. He turned to Panem, looking totally desperate, confusion and pain in his eyes.

"Can I…can I say goodbye to him? Please?"

Panem grinned.

"Certainly. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She was mocking them, mocking their friendship, but Austria seemed to be pretending not to notice, because he turned first to America, whispering: "I want you to shoot me when he's not watching. I'm bigger than he is - if I hold him tight he won't see. Can you do that for me?"

America tried to breathe, to remember how to talk, to tell Austria how _brave_ he was being in spite of everything, but he couldn't. He nodded, and Austria smiled and turned to Switzerland.

"Let him go," he said, and the guards did, backing away, leaving Switzerland standing in the middle of room, facing Austria.

"You can't," Switzerland said. "You can't…tell him you don't want to die, Roderich! Tell him, make him change his mind…"

"He's not allowed to change his mind," Austria said, and he drew Switzerland close, crushing the small man against him, and still America could not bear to fire. He moved closer, though, so that he would have a clear shot. He had to, at least, give Austria a quick death. He could do that, if nothing else.

"I know you wanted to protect me," Austria said, "but that's not possible. I don't want you to mourn, Basch. I would like it if you would, if you would try to cope with it. I know losing Heidi started all of this…"

_"Liechtenstein's dead? Oh my god. No wonder he's so…so scared of losing Austria. How can I…how does Panem expect me to kill him _now_?"_

"But you can't let that be the end of you. You're stronger than that. So please, even if I'm dead, I want you to try and move on. I know you wouldn't be able to do that with me holding you down. You're right; there are things I could do, beyond playing the piano, ways that I could live. But music is my life, and I'm sorry to say I don't know how I _would_ live without it. I don't _want_ to live without it, not in a world this broken. But I…I want you to move on, even if I can't."

America couldn't quite tell what it was that Austria whispered to Switzerland then, but he saw the determined way he crushed Switzerland to his chest, and he lifted the gun again, aimed, and for a moment he stood still as the sound of a piano echoed in his mind.

He closed his eyes and prayed his hands wouldn't shake, and then, not looking at Austria because he knew he wouldn't be able to do it if he did, he pulled the trigger.

* * *

Iceland wanted to scream when he heard the gunshot echo through the meeting room, but he couldn't, although he tried to open his mouth, to let out the cry he so desperately need to. He couldn't. He could do _nothing_, and even if he could have screamed, it would have done none of them any good.

There was silence after the gunshot, except for America's sobs as he turned blindly and stumbled back to his seat, leaving Switzerland standing alone, supporting the weight of Austria's corpse. Iceland was sure that Austria had died almost instantly, but that wouldn't make it any easier for Switzerland.

"Roderich?" Switzerland asked, his voice echoing through the chamber, strong and sure, denying what had just happened. The second time, he faltered. "R-Roderich?"

At least Austria's eyes were closed. It looked almost as if he were asleep, leaning on Switzerland, but they all knew better. It was Lithuania, who had been with Switzerland before, who rallied them, although even his eyes were clouded by despair.

"Ivan, come with me," he said, and together, the two went to Switzerland, leaving Belarus and Estonia to comfort the sobbing America. Italy was staring at Austria, looking almost confused, and Iceland wanted to explain it to him, but at the same time, he thought it might be better for Italy not to understand.

Latvia was murmuring something in his own language, poetry, perhaps, or a prayer. Iceland watched as Russia and Lithuania approached Switzerland, as Lithuania stepped forward and laid his hand gently on Switzerland's shoulder.

"Basch…"

Switzerland turned to stare at Lithuania, and he looked so desperate, so lonely, that Iceland almost could not bear to see it.

"No," said Switzerland. "No. No, you don't understand, Toris, he's not… He…he can't be… I promised…"

Lithuania said nothing - there was nothing to be said, Iceland thought, for all of them, even Switzerland, knew that nothing could be done for Austria now.

Wordlessly, Russia took the body from Switzerland, and Switzerland let him do it, still staring numbly at Lithuania, and yet at nothing at all. Even Russia, once the strongest of all of them, seemed unable to carry the weight of another nation's body, and he laid Austria on the floor, folded the broken hands neatly over Austria's chest, and stepped away, his head bowed.

"He can sleep there, for now," he said, to the air above Switzerland's head rather than to Switzerland himself. "At least there is a little sunlight here."

Switzerland stared at Russia, vacant eyes drifting to what was left of Austria, and for a moment Iceland thought he might never accept what had happened. Then Switzerland bowed his head, and despite his obvious efforts to restrain himself, a long, wordless moan escaped him.

At a nod from Lithuania, Russia returned to his seat, and Lithuania, still broken and hurting himself, took Switzerland by the hand and led him back to his seat. Russia had moved to sit next to Belarus, while Lithuania sat in the seat that had been Russia's before, leaving Austria's seat unoccupied. Switzerland, in his grief, probably did not notice, but Iceland was grateful for Lithuania's thoughtfulness, as he thought Switzerland would have been had he been able to think of anything beyond the pain.

There was a long silence, and for once, not even Panem felt the need to speak. Iceland, watching her, got the feeling that she was waiting for one of them to say something, and it was Estonia who finally did.

"What is the second task?" Estonia asked. "You said there'd be two."

Panem nodded, smiled, and Iceland thought that rather than sobering her, Austria's death had fueled her fury, making it more amusing for her to continue her deadly game.

"Alfred!" she said sharply. "Listen up!"

America raised his head, somehow seeming centuries older than he was, his eyes the eyes of a man who had seen too much and did not know what to do to stop the horror he was witnessing.

"The second part of this game," said Panem, "may or may not result in death. Alfred, _are you listening_? The rules are very simple. You will torture Eduard until he is either dead, or the person whom I will shortly name tells you to stop. Are you prepared to do that?"

"Accept it," Estonia's voice was a faint, trembling hiss, but Iceland could hear it all the same. "Don't worry about me. She's been planning to kill me this whole time; it's better for me to be beaten to death than someone like Toris or Feliciano."

"I'll do it." America's voice was so broken, it was hard to make out the words. "I'll do it."

"Good," Panem said. "In that case, I will name the one in whose hands Eduard's survival lies."

_"Why is she looking at me? She can't possibly, no, she wouldn't, that's cheating, she can't…"_

"Eirikur," Panem said, and her smile blossomed into a maddened grin, "I do hope you'll do your best to save Eduard. It will certainly be amusing, no matter how far you're willing to go."

"You can't!" Latvia shrieked. "That's got to be against the rules!"

Panem smirked. "I _make_ the rules, Raivis. And I assure you, this is perfectly within them. I can't think of any way that I could break my rules, actually, considering the only rule is to be as violent as possible."

_"She can't she can't she can't…"_

Estonia stood up, a forced smile fixed on his lips. Iceland did not want to meet his eyes, but he really had no choice, and anyway, there was no blame there, only a sort of fatalistic acceptance, so uncharacteristic of the boy who had fought so hard for so long to keep his life and sanity.

"Don't waste your time, Eirikur. You know how much she hates me. I can assure you, I'm dead either way."

* * *

**I'm REALLY SORRY. And yeah that's about all I have to say.**


	49. Just Sleep, Just Dream

**So I was GOING to put a quote from a song at the end of this chapter, but I couldn't choose one, so all of you ought to go to Youtube and find the song "Nightmare" by NateWantsToBattle, as it is A) where I got the name of this chapter, and B) Five Nights at Freddy's inspired or otherwise, it really fits this chapter/story in general. (****Only look it up if you want to, of course.)**

**That being said, I'm genuinely really sorry for everything that happens in this story in general, but I hope you enjoy the continuing madness anyways?**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Nine: Just Sleep, Just Dream

America couldn't breathe. Couldn't focus, couldn't think, couldn't even _try_ to come to terms with what he had to do.

"So what you're really saying is that I have to kill Ed, too." His voice sounded ridiculously far away; was he even in this world anymore? Maybe Italy was right; maybe this was all a dream, and he was about to wake up.

"Unless Eirikur finds a way to tell you otherwise," Panem said. "Oh, and it has to be with the spoken word, naturally. I'll accept nothing less."

Next to him, Estonia was already standing, and as he turned to look, America saw there was a kind of crooked smile fixed on his friend's lips, a sad, haunted, yet accepting smile.

"Come on, Alfred," Estonia said. "We might as well get it over with. I…I assume the pipe in her hand is your weapon. From experience, I can assure you that this will kill me, probably fairly quickly if you apply the right amount of strength."

This was so wrong. Estonia, the boy who raged against death and injustice, going quietly to his death like this was _completely wrong_. Estonia was supposed to fight.

"Aren't you angry?" he asked. "Are you okay with this?"

Something, something in Estonia's eyes, he thought it was, split apart and smashed into a million pieces, and he wasn't sure what exactly it was, only he'd seen in, a piece of Estonia's sanity tearing off and breaking.

"I'm too far gone to want anything else, Al…" Had Estonia always sounded this tired? America was sure that wasn't the case; he was sure that there had been times when Estonia had had at least a little hope in his voice, or, at least, something beside this horrid _acceptance_.

"It's better this way. I've done well this time around, but…we all know that eventually, I'll snap and kill someone who doesn't deserve it. It's happened before. Ask Raivis sometime; maybe once I'm gone he'll feel all right blaming me."

"I could never blame you, Eddy." Latvia was crying, shedding the tears that Estonia no longer could. "You're my _best friend._ I love you. How could I _ever_ blame you for something that isn't your fault?"

"I don't know, Raivis," Estonia said wearily. "It seems like it's my fault. I just don't know anymore. I can't know. All this killing and dying and blaming people seems so _normal_ now, I'm not even surprised that I'm going to die. I don't even remember what dying feels like, it's been so long, but I still can't recover…"

Panem muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "he always turns this into a soap opera at the worst possible moment", and America had to wonder if she was broadcasting this whole thing on live television. He certainly couldn't put it past her, with all the horrible things she'd already done. And then he had to be done being distracted, because Lithuania had slipped out of his seat, slipped around the table to join the brothers he had given everything for.

"It's going to be all right," he whispered, though he was crying, and trying not to, and they all knew that he was lying. "It, it's going to be fine. It won't be long until we're all together again, I'm sure."

"When we all wake up, I bet we'll all get to have a big meeting!" Italy piped up. "With fun stuff, not just boring politics that nobody really wants to deal with. We'll have lots of fun then, and we'll all be happy, right?"

"Even if, if we're not all together in the end," said Latvia, "I…I b-believe we'll all end up in some kind of heaven. So m-maybe it's better to die. In the end, maybe we'll all be happier once we're dead."

"Even if there is nothing after death, it will be better than this," Russia said. He did not look at Estonia, but his words were surely directed at him. "There is no one who deserves happiness more than you, Eduard. I am sorry that you were not able to find happiness on this earth."

"I think we're all making this harder for him and we should _stop talking_," Belarus announced. "He wasn't crying before."

Estonia was crying now, although his tears were silent and might have gone unseen had not Belarus pointed them out.

"Why do you do this for me?" he asked. "Why do you waste your time?"

"Because it's not a waste." America had to say something; he couldn't just let his friend die - at his own hands - and not try to help somehow. "Because you're our friend. We care about you, Ed. Always have."

Estonia tried to smile, tried to laugh, and failed. "Fine words from the man who's about to kill me. That's a joke, Alfred, a very flat one but… Never mind."

He straightened up, and there were still tears on his face, but his voice was stronger now.

"Thank you, everyone. I know…I haven't appreciated your friendship like I should have. But I think I should say now, if you've ever been kind to me, even once, your words have meant more than you know. Thank you. I'm sorry I haven't been able to return your kindness."

"You have, Eduard, believe me."

"Yeah, you saved my life, I'm pretty sure, because I was going so crazy with blood all over my face that I was about to try to rip it right off!"

"Even if you don't believe it, Eddy, even if you won't accept it, you're still the best friend I've e-ever had!"

Panem cleared her throat, loudly and impatiently, and practically shoved the pipe into America's hands.

"If Eduard doesn't _mind_, can we get on with this? Some of us have lives, you know. Also, he might not die, if Eirikur manages to come through for him."

"Don't act like him not saving me will be like betrayal," Estonia hissed. "It's not. I know that."

"What do you know?" Panem said scornfully. "Last I looked, all you knew how to do was hurt the people you loved."

Estonia looked her straight in the eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was stronger than it had been in decades.

"That's what you keep telling me. That's what Russia told me. But do you know something, Panem? Not once have the people who truly love me ever told me that. When last _I _looked, just a moment ago, they tried to help me, although I don't deserve it. I know I've done some bad things - a lot of bad things, too many to count. But now, at the end, I believe I've done some good, too."

Estonia pulled his shirt off, and then, turned to America, smiled, and knelt on the floor, awaiting the beating that would, more than likely, end his life. And once more, America spoke the words that he was sure he could never stop repeating, even in death.

"I'm _so sorry_."

* * *

Iceland tore frantically at the stitches around his mouth, his panic and horror increasing as America swung the pipe down again and again, as Estonia's shrieks grew more panicked and pleading, as Latvia's helpless wails grew louder.

_"I have to help. I have to help. If I can save him then I'll have done one good thing, just one, and that was all I wanted, was to do one good thing to somehow balance out all that selfishness. That's all I want. Please, gods, or god, or whoever is out there, let me save him…"_

America paused for a moment, either trying to catch his breath or trying to buy some time, certainly trying to halt the torture, and Estonia, whose eyes were already clouded with agony, locked eyes with Iceland, the pleading in his eyes not a cry for help but a plea for Iceland not to interfere. Then the pipe came down again, and Estonia's body jerked sharply as he cried out again.

"Make it stop, Eirikur, make it stop…" He knew Latvia was begging out of desperation, not because he thought he could actually help, but hearing Latvia begging him to save Estonia added a new determination and pain, causing him to try to gouge his fingernails into his lips, to rip the stitches away.

He couldn't do it. He was bleeding now and he couldn't do it and Estonia was fading fast; they could all tell.

_"I can't do it. I can't. It hurts too much; I can't do it. There's no way…I…I have to let him die… It's my fault, I could have saved him if I was just a little stronger but I'm not…"_

"Eirikur, if you have any sense left after all this," Estonia gasped, as America paused again, "you'll stop trying to rip your lips off, before you cause permanent damage."

He tried harder, but he could do nothing. He could only watch as Estonia was murdered in front of him, and although he knew, somewhere deep inside, that he could not do anything to help, he still felt as if he was responsible.

_"If I was just a little stronger…I could surely have saved him. It's because of my weakness that he is dying now."_

* * *

It hurt, so much, and he remembered all the pain of all the decades before, all the times he'd been broken down and beaten until he passed out or died.

This was no different, except America's strikes lacked the anger and madness that Russia's had. This was no different, except that this time, he would not wake up.

He could see Iceland, trying desperately to find a way to save him, but he didn't want to be saved, and he tried to tell the boy that, only the words wouldn't come.

He remembered then, as the strikes rained down on his already broken body, not the torment he'd sustained, but the madness he had been under for so long. Now, in the face of certain death, it had left him. For the first time in decades, he felt as if he could see things clearly. It seemed that sanity could only be gained in death, as he had feared for so long.

_"All this time, I've been fighting against death when death was the only way for me to escape. It's not…that I deserve it, necessarily… Although I think I deserve it, that's not the reason. The reason is…when I decided to fight against being tortured and murdered, that was when I went insane. When I tried to take revenge for the wrongs done to me by others, that was when I lost myself. That couldn't be rectified until I accepted my death. I see now. This is what was going to happen all along. In order to become sane…I would have to die."_

It hurt, and then it hurt more, and he fell forward, screaming, and as he fell his glasses flew off and landed somewhere far out of reach, and he heard rather than saw them shatter into a thousand pieces.

_"Shattered…just like this world. Broken and destroyed. Although, unlike this world…those glasses were replaceable."_

He wasn't in as much pain now; he thought maybe that last strike had broken his back, or something, but he couldn't tell. He kept on thinking about the brokenness of everything, about how his glasses could be replaced but this world never could, and how it wasn't fair, since the world needed replacing far more than any pair of glasses.

He wondered what had happened to Latvia. He knew he was somewhere close; he could hear him sobbing, but he couldn't see anymore.

_"I hope, no matter what happens, that he ends up safe and happy. He deserves to be safe and happy, even if…if I'm not there to make it happen. And I'm not…going to be there. I…I failed to protect him, to protect Toris, to protect any of them. In the end, just like in the beginning…I've failed to protect my family."_

Somewhere, somewhere that he couldn't see anymore, he could hear Latvia and Lithuania crying, and he could hear America sometimes, between the strikes from the weapon in his friend's hand.

_"It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It's not…anyone's fault."_

For just a moment, his vision cleared, and he could see Latvia watching him, tears running down his face.

_"It's best…for me to die here. I can't hold them back anymore, or hurt them unknowingly."_

He smiled at Latvia, and then, as his vision started to fade into darkness, he closed his eyes.

_"I hope…no matter what lies in store for you…that, in the end, you'll all be okay. That's…all I really wanted, after all."_

...

…

"Eduard?"

* * *

They left the bodies in the conference room, Austria laid out neatly in the sunlight, Estonia still sprawled on the floor where he had died. Latvia didn't think to say goodbye to the others until it was too late, and they were gone. It was probably better that way, too, better that they not know.

He knew, of course, that Estonia was not coming back, but it didn't seem as if it could be true. He'd seen Estonia 'die' so many times before, but he knew now that that had been a different kind of death, because Estonia had always died fighting before. This time, he had accepted it, or, at least, he'd seemed to be at peace.

It had been so long since he'd seen Estonia at peace, it should have been beautiful, but it wasn't. It just hurt, and he wanted to cry, to scream, but the words wouldn't come. He let Panem lead him back to his room, but he did not speak to her, nor she to him, leaving him to his grief. And when she had gone, he sat alone on the bed that had been Estonia's and tried to remember how to cry.

He couldn't. He wanted to, but he just felt empty, except for the persistent aching in his chest.

_"He's gone."_

Despite all the deaths, despite Panem's threats, he'd never been able to bring himself to imagine the world without Estonia. He would never have been able to imagine that kind of world, anyway. A world where he did not have two brothers, a world where there was no Estonia, was not a world he wanted to live in.

Estonia had been alive that morning and now he was not there any longer. Latvia wondered where he was now, if he'd gotten to heaven after all.

"I h-hope, wherever you are, I'll see you again," he whispered, and then lowered his head and stared down at his hands, running his fingers over the scars. He'd gained those scars trying to save Estonia; he should have known even then that there was no salvation for his brother.

"There's no salvation for any of us."

He believed that, even if it was wrong to believe it, even if he didn't want to. He knew, now, that even if they were saved, he wouldn't want it. Switzerland wouldn't want it. Iceland wouldn't want it. He didn't think that any of them were even hoping to be saved, except maybe Italy, but he didn't know their hearts. He could only guess at their feelings, and try to suppress his own, for their sakes.

"But that doesn't matter now. I'll never see them again."

She hadn't needed to say it for him to know. That had always been the bargain. Now that Estonia was dead, he would no longer be allowed to see the other prisoners. He was Panem's now, and she wouldn't let anyone else have him.

And he could not cry for any of it, not for Estonia, not for Austria or for Iceland, who was going to die soon, not for any of the others who were being tortured. He could not even cry for himself.

He took his notebook in hand and tried to force himself to write, but there were no words terrible enough for the sorrow that had fallen upon their world.

* * *

_Why not me?_

He couldn't get it out of his head, the need to know why he wasn't allowed to die. He knew _why_, of course, knew Panem wanted him to suffer, but that didn't make it better, didn't stop him from wanting to cry out in agonized, questioning horror.

His ability to delay his reaction to the tragedies taking place was fading. Less than twenty-four hours after Estonia and Austria had died, he was already crying over them.

He didn't have the strength to apologize anymore. He wanted to, wanted to scream his apologies, but it was no use. They wouldn't forgive him. No one would forgive him. He had no right to ask for forgiveness.

He'd already been a murderer, technically; but before, the others had helped him. They had all killed England together. He'd shared the blame with them. Not this time. This time, this time it was all his fault. He'd killed them with his own hands, and no one should ever forgive him for what he had done.

He was so _tired_, and yet whenever he closed his eyes, he saw blood spattering on the ground, saw Estonia dying, saw Austria jerking once and then going limp in Switzerland's arms.

He couldn't get away from it. He couldn't even sleep. He was sure, even if he did get to sleep, that his dreams would be haunted by nightmares.

_I killed them. I killed Roderich and Eduard. I…I was supposed to be the hero. I was supposed to be Ed's hero, especially. Basch was already Roderich's, and if anyone needed a hero, it was Ed, but I _killed_ him. I don't deserve to be called a hero. Panem's right. I don't even deserve to live._

He wondered if this was how Estonia had felt, if this was why Estonia had constantly blamed himself.

_Of course I finally get it, now that I've _murdered_ him._

It was different even from killing England, because he'd known that if England was going to be saved, he would've saved himself. America could never have saved England. But maybe he could have saved Estonia. Estonia had been _begging_ for a hero, and he hadn't…

He was going around and around in his head and each time he thought the same thing, about Estonia and Austria and the fact that he was a murderer and nothing could _ever_ change that.

Somewhere far away, someone was crying. Everything seemed so far off; he was so trapped in his hatred of himself and his regrets for what should have been and what could never be.

_I murdered them._

He could see blood pooling on the carpet under Austria's head.

_I don't deserve to live._

He could see Estonia falling; he could hear Latvia's helpless sobs.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

_Snap!_

She'd imagined his bones breaking a thousand times, back when she'd hated him, and now it wasn't his bones she heard breaking, but his mind.

_Snap, snap, snap…_

"You know it's not your fault," she said, and of course it did nothing to convince him, because he was Toris and he refused to be convinced that he was not to blame.

"Of course it is," he whispered, and she knew arguing would do no good, but she wanted to help him, because seeing the others die had been horrible for _her_, and she didn't have a crippling need to protect and save everyone on earth, not the way he did.

"Why?" she asked. "How? You barely even knew Austria."

"Not _that…"_ Lithuania whispered. "Eduard."

"Russia and Panem did this to him, as did I. You had no part in it."

Suddenly, she wished she'd had the presence of mind to take back everything she'd said about Estonia. _She'd_ blamed him more than anyone else had, but, as usual, her obsessive mind had been too busy with the object of its obsession to think about others' welfare.

"I wish I had apologized," she whispered, and Lithuania actually _glared_ at her, which was progress, considering he had done nothing but cry uncontrollably for hours on end.

"It's not your fault it's mine," he said, all in a rush, like she didn't already _know_ how much he blamed himself.

"How?" she asked. "How is it your fault, Toris?"

"If I had woken up and gone downstairs and stopped Russia from hurting him that day, none of this would have happened to him! He would have at least been able to be at peace!"

She had so many arguments for that. She wanted to fight someone, to scream and rage and commit murder if she could just to get rid of her anger at Panem and at everyone who had made Lithuania cry, and if she couldn't do that she could at least argue him out of his self-hatred. Or, at any rate, she could try, although she knew in her heart that there was no one on earth who could rid him of his self-hate and agony.

"You were unconscious because Russia _beat you and left you for dead_!" she shouted, thrilled by the way her voice echoed in the prison cell. "That wasn't your fault! You can only sacrifice so much of yourself at once, Toris!"

"I didn't sacrifice enough."

"Toris, you did more than anyone else in the whole world. Now shut up and let me talk."

"It's my fault, Natalya, please just let me blame myself." He was crying again. "I know I'm the one to blame, and I'd _rather_ have it that way. If someone has to accept the blame, let it be me. I can take it. I've always been able to take it before."

She'd watched him fall apart in front of her, she knew he couldn't take it, but she had something else to say to him and so she let it go, because she knew she could not convince him to stop hating himself, to stop trying to be strong when he wasn't, but maybe she could ease his burden a little.

"Let us say that it is your fault - which I do not believe it is. But even if it is your fault, Toris, I believe Eduard was at peace when he died. You saw him, didn't you?"

"He was _so hurt_, Nat…"

"But at peace, I believe." _Do I only believe this because I so badly want to be at peace when it is my turn? Is it only because Eduard was so broken? Is it only because, if he, the broken one, can be at peace, all of us can be, including me? _"You heard him thank us, Toris. He went to his death knowing we loved him. That, to him, would be enough to bring peace. He only wanted our love, didn't he?"

Lithuania said nothing, and she could see the anguish in his eyes, and she wanted to take it away, but she didn't know how.

"Toris, come here."

The end of the world was so much less lonely now that she had the one she loved there to hold, even if he was broken beyond repair. In a way, she hoped they would be the last to die, so that she could have more time with him.

But she also hoped that their time would be soon, so they would not have to suffer anymore. She'd never seen him this far gone.

She could almost see his sanity slipping.

_Snap, snap, snap._

* * *

**(...yay for myriad POV switches and Shadow suddenly deciding that she's not going to put quotes around thoughts anymore. (six POV switches Shadow what are you DOING...?))**

**Well, anyway, there's a chapter for you. I'll be updating next week as usual, although I'll have to take a break the week after that. Hopefully, though, that will be the last update I'll skip before the story ends. It's probably going to end up with maybe 65 chapters, tops, so we're nearing the end, I suppose. I hope you all continue to enjoy, and reviews are, as always, appreciated! **


	50. From this Deep Despair

Chapter Fifty: From This Deep Despair

Some days Prussia wondered if this was even worth it, when everyone else was gone. Every day, things seemed a little less hopeful; every day, Canada seemed to sense that he was feeling hopeless and tried to cheer him up. It wasn't working, but he couldn't tell the kid that. Canada deserved to feel like he was helping.

The worst part was losing people. Back when there had been ten or twenty nations at large, he'd held out some hope for them. But now, now that there were only a few of them, every day's broadcast served only to remind them of the hopelessness of their situation.

Canada, far less conspicuous with his sandy hair and fairly normal eyes, usually went to watch the broadcasts these days. Citizens were not required to attend, not yet, but still they went, and it would be too easy for some 'patriotic' citizen to recognize Prussia.

The same could happen with Canada, of course, but that was less likely, and they both knew it. Today, though, Canada came back looking pale and tired, like he'd remembered something that he didn't want to.

"What's wrong?" Prussia asked. Canada sat down next to him, and Prussia could see just how hard the kid was trying to keep his face neutral, and how badly he was failing.

"Something happened," Canada said. "Spain's gone. I don't know what that means, but…"

"He's either dead or captured," Prussia said. _For his sake, let's hope he's dead,_ he didn't say, because Canada wouldn't want to hear that, not after losing France.

"How do you think it happened?" Canada asked, clutching his jacket closely around himself.

"Don't know," Prussia said. "The way it happens to any of us, I guess. One little mistake."

Canada looked down, fiddling with his shoelaces. "I want to look for Lovino. He's got to be somewhere in the city, and he's alone, so-"

Once, Prussia would have argued, said it was too dangerous, even that it might be a trap. But, honestly, he barely _cared_ what happened to him anymore, and if he didn't go with Canada, the kid might go off by himself and end up dead, and he couldn't let_ that _happen.

_I'm supposedly taking care of him, and if we're going to walk into a trap, we're going to do it together._

"Okay, Matt," he said. "Where do we start looking?"

Canada shook his head. "I don't know. There are too many places he could be. We might never find him. It's probably a silly idea; maybe we shouldn't even…"

"Now hang on a minute!" Prussia interjected. "Matt, I don't know about you, but I for one am not going to give up that easy. This is a good idea, okay, so let's stick with it! Let's think for a minute. Where have we already looked?"

"A-around here," Canada said.

"Right." _If you've thought all this through so thoroughly, Gilbert, why didn't you help him look for the others in the first place? _"So we know he isn't around here, don't we? And what's the most likely place for a nation who's just lost his only companion to hide?"

"S-somewhere abandoned," Canada said. "Somewhere no soldiers go to."

"So back near where…well, you know," Prussia said. Canada looked puzzled.

"No, I don't know. Where?"

He looked down, sighing. "Around where the explosion was. You know?"

"Oh." Now it was Canada's turn to sigh. "There. You're probably right. It might be dangerous to go there, though. There could be soldiers."

"It's your call," Prussia said. "If you want to try there, we can try there. We may not find him; probably won't, but it's worth a try, right?"

For a long time, Canada didn't say anything, and Prussia wondered if he was trying to calculate the risks of looking for Romano, as opposed to the slight possibility of actually_ finding _Romano before Panem's soldiers could. Canada looked up, eyes bright with determination, and he definitely didn't look completely okay, but he looked a lot better than he had only a few minutes before.

"If I was scared and alone, I'd want someone to find me," Canada said. "So let's go look for him. Even if we don't find him, at least we'll know we tried. And if we don't try, we'll regret it forever. In this time, it's important to do things we're proud of, so maybe we'll be remembered."

* * *

The worst part isn't necessarily that he's been sentenced to die like this, but the fact that he has to be alone when he goes. Before, maybe, Latvia would have come to him, but somehow, after Estonia died, he got the feeling that he was never going to see Latvia again. He kept waiting for Latvia to come, just one more time, but he didn't.

The worst part was being alone, not because he wanted to talk to someone - he _couldn't_ \- but because, all alone, there was nothing to keep him from thinking about what might come after.

_People like me don't get to go to…to whatever good place is after this. I was selfish and cruel, didn't think of anybody but myself, and that means I won't get to be happy in the end. And I let Estonia die. I was the only one who could've saved him and I let him die._

He used to know that wasn't really his fault. He used to be able to believe that.

But he also used to believe that he would be okay once he died, and he couldn't believe that anymore.

_Maybe…if I'm not worthy of heaven, I could be reborn. If that could happen, I'm sure I'd do things right. I'd try harder. I'd never be selfish. But maybe it's too late for that. Maybe I can't even…can't even be given that chance. But…if I could choose…_

He shivered, feeling the chains cut into his wrists, feeling the swollen skin around his mouth throbbing, feeling himself getting weaker and weaker as more time passed.

_…I would rather die and be reborn. Maybe next time, if there is a next time, I can do better._

* * *

Spending hours in the dark tends to force one into the worst mental state possible. If he hadn't been in a terrible mental state when they'd shoved him in there, he was now.

_Roderich's dead._

At first, that thought had made him want to cry, but then, over time, it had turned into a desire to kill Panem - which he'd already tried once, and failed to do. He couldn't really think of what it was he truly wanted. He only knew that it hurt, and he was angry, and it wasn't _fair_ that everyone he cared about had to suffer and be _murdered_, while he kept on living without even being hurt once.

He knew he wouldn't break under torture. He knew that, he _knew_, but Panem didn't torture and murder _him_, but everyone who couldn't stand or didn't deserve to be in pain. And it wasn't that he deserved to be in pain, but he'd gladly have taken it, if it had meant Liechtenstein and Austria could have been spared. He wouldn't have cared, if it had meant they'd be safe.

She'd even tortured Lithuania; she'd tortured _everyone_, except maybe Russia, and still she hadn't laid a hand on him. She'd murdered his sister and his friend, left him powerless without anyone to protect, and he didn't understand why it had to be like this.

Someone opened his cell door, and he did not look up, expecting to hear Latvia's childish voice. But what he heard was the arrogant, mocking voice of a young soldier.

"Broken, are you? Jones thought it would take more than that to break you. Guess she was wrong."

He wasn't _broken,_ of course he wasn't broken. She couldn't break him. He wouldn't let her. And still the soldier mocked him, and maybe it would do no good to provoke him, but he didn't _care_, and any soldier who would aid Panem in what she was doing deserved to die…

He didn't realize until he had his hands at the soldier's throat that something was wrong, that there was no way, no matter how strong he still was, that he should have been able to overpower a soldier so quickly. All at once, he realized how small this soldier was - shorter than him - and realized that this soldier was just a kid, really. His hair was brown and clipped short, his eyes brown too, but he was so _small_ and he wondered how he'd become a soldier. He couldn't be any older than America and Lithuania, physically speaking, and maybe this kid had had no choice but to join Panem's army; maybe this kid had a little sister or brother to take care of. He couldn't know. He didn't have a right to take a kid's life - even a kid who had mocked him - not knowing if he really deserved it.

He released the soldier, backed away, his hands falling to his sides, and the soldier kid stared at him for a minute, gasping, and then turned and bolted out of the cell, no doubt on his way to tell Panem that he'd almost been murdered. Switzerland stood still for a moment, staring at the cell door, and at least the pain was a little less now, even if it had been replaced by shock and horror and fear of himself.

_I almost…I could have…_

He sank to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands and trying, trying to focus, to stop the pounding in his head, to stop himself from crying out, whether from rage or pain, he wasn't sure.

_I almost killed him._

"Oh, my," said a girl's voice, "have you given up already?"

He tried to force himself not to look at her and failed. Now, here was someone who deserved to die, someone who had committed too many crimes against humanity to be allowed to live, and he could not kill her. Even if he tried, she would merely come back like a ghost to haunt him.

"I'm a bit disappointed you didn't kill Bailey," Panem commented. "He's not a very good soldier, although I suppose he has his uses. Like now, for instance…you've broken down again."

At least he wasn't crying, just sitting still and trying not to rise to the bait, trying not to let her provoke him. Fighting her was useless when he had things he needed to know, questions only she could answer.

"Why haven't you tortured me?" he hissed. "Why not? Why aren't you torturing me right now? I could have killed one of your soldiers! I'm _dangerous_…"

"Do you want to die, Basch?" Panem asked.

_Yes…no…yes, if you're going to kill everyone I care about._

He said nothing, lowered his head and refused to look at her, letting her sort it out on her own.

"If you want to die," Panem said, "it is because you have lost your will to fight, isn't it? And what makes _you_ lose your spirit, Basch? Isn't it when those you love are hurt and killed and you can do nothing? Doesn't that hurt you more than anything I could do to you physically?"

_Why…why does she know that?_

"If I tortured you like I did Estonia, it wouldn't work," Panem said, "because you will not let yourself be broken like that. If I tortured you, you would fight against it and would not break, and that would be no fun for me. I am going to break you, but I will not have to lay a hand on you to do it. All that it takes to break you - and do not deny it; you are breaking even now - is being forced to watch while I hurt those you love. You and Lithuania are not so very different from each other."

_She's wrong she's wrong she's wrong; she can't possibly break me like that I won't let her. _

Panem smiled.

"I'll let you think that over," she said, and left his cell. He wished Austria was still there, wished there was _anyone_ there that he could talk to, that he could hold and protect. And he tried to deny what she had said - because why would he listen to a psychopath like her? - but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

_If…if she's right…then…that would explain why I've been crying…and losing my cool…and acting like everything was hopeless and there was no reason to be strong. If she's right…then…what happens next time?_

Suddenly, he understood how Lithuania -and more than that, little Latvia - must feel.

* * *

"Raivis?"

He didn't look up, remaining seated on the bed with his back to her, staring out the window.

"Come in," he murmured, knowing that she would have come to disturb him whether or not he gave her permission. He listened to the footsteps as she moved closer, refusing to look at her. He could deny her that satisfaction, if nothing else.

"I just thought you ought to know that Iceland died this morning," Panem said, and if it had been said in a less matter-of-fact tone, he might have almost thought she had come to tell him out of kindness. But no, this was not kindness, merely further torture.

In his mind, another of the dwindling silhouettes of those he loved shattered and was gone. He swallowed, but it only made the pressure in his chest deeper, and he could not contain it. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, but when he spoke, his voice was laced with tears.

"S-so it must be, then."

_He didn't deserve to die. None of them deserved to die. Why does she…why…?_

"Why are you doing this?" His voice broke; he stared out the window into the sky beyond, wondering if their ghosts were somewhere out there, watching him. "W-why…what can you gain…?"

She sat down on the bed next to him - once again wearing the silken green dress, but he saw only the barest glimpse of the fabric before he looked away. She reached out to him, her hand on his shoulder, but he shoved it away.

"Raivis…"

"No!" he backed away from her, collapsing in the middle of the unmade bed, curling into the blankets as if he could hide himself from her. "Don't touch me!"

She swung her legs up onto the bed, and there was nowhere left for him to go, so he collapsed in on himself, feeling her hands on him, wanting to kick her away, but knowing that she could still punish the others for his misbehavior.

"I'm doing this for my own sake, of course," she said. "And for yours, Raivis. They weren't worthy to be your friends, anyway. They're all worthless. You know that."

"No."

Estonia was a genius; Ukraine the mother none of the nations ever had. Iceland, with his selfish proud heart, had still been kind and strong, and Latvia had always wanted to be like him. And the living, but soon to die: Lithuania with his kindness and bravery; America with his once unfading, now breaking cheerfulness and determination.

"They're…they're worth more than what they did to you," he whispered. "If you kill them, you're saying that you're the only person in the world who means anything. You're saying, to all of them 'You're only worth as much as the mistakes you made'. It's wrong! It's so wrong to judge people like that! We have to, to look at them as a whole…"

"And who is to be the judge of that whole?" Panem asked. "Who is to say whether their good deeds outweigh the bad ones? Would it not be the task of someone above the rest of creation?"

"You're not God, Panem."

"But is there a god, Raivis?"

"That doesn't matter. Whether or not there is a god, you are not a god. You're a person who happens to be immortal. That doesn't make you a god."

"But who is to decide?"

"No one. Nobody knows."

"What if I_ was_ God?"

"You're not, Perri. That's impossible. If you are God then all of us nations were gods once, but look at us. Look at me. I am only human. You are only human. Maybe God put us here, but we are not gods."

"What if we could be?" She gathered him into her arms, too strong for him to resist, too fragile for him to want to. Her voice was quieter now, quiet with a hint of wondering and, possibly, of promise. "What if we could become gods?"

"Perri," he mumbled, "is this for real life or just for poetry?"

"For speculation. I'm not _completely_ consumed with revenge and insanity, you know. I have my own thoughts, just like you. And I want to know what you would do if we could become gods."

"I'd do nothing because we _can't_."

She paused, her fingers tugging on his hair, and he sensed that she was contemplating something.

"Are you angry, Raivis?"

"No." He wasn't, not really; he knew anger would get him nowhere, and maybe, in another life, he would have been angry with her, but he'd seen what it had done to Estonia and he was determined never to be like that, never to hate her.

He hated what she'd become, but he did not hate her.

"Then what is it?"

"You talk about God, and about becoming a god," he said, "but if you were God, you would know what's right and wrong, wouldn't you? Isn't that what they taught in America, in the land from which you were born?"

"America had many religions, Raivis, but yes, that's one belief."

"Then, then, you would be the ultimate judge. But you're _not_, Perri! You're wrong! So maybe everyone didn't take the best care of me. Maybe they didn't protect me like they should have. But they _loved_ me, and they really, really tried to show that. And more than that, I loved _them_. I still do love them! And when you love people, you want them to be happy, to live. So…if you really and truly loved me…you would know that doing this - murdering the people I love - can never win me to your side. If you really knew what was right and what was wrong, you'd know that destroying me like this can do nothing to make me love you."

Her fingers were still now, and her voice was quiet and cold.

"Maybe that's so, Raivis. But I always dreamed of having everything I want. And no matter what I have to do, no matter how close I come to breaking you…I _will_ have what I want."

* * *

She left him alone, because he was being ridiculous and difficult and she didn't like having to go around in circles with him. She was all right with him being sad, because when he was sad he liked to talk with her, and she liked talking to him. But when he had this other thing, this thing not quite like anger and not quite sadness, he came close to shattering all her dreams, and she did not like _that _one bit.

She sat now at her desk, alone, looking over her plans - plans without much detail, for she had never expected everything to go so well for this long. True, there had been minor setbacks along the way, but for the most part, her plans had remained completely unbothered by them.

She tapped her fingers on the desk, thinking about the morning's incident with Switzerland and the guard, Bailey. She cared very little about what happened to Bailey, but it _would_ be annoying if he died, and so she probably ought to do something about the problem of leaving frightened and partially trained soldiers alone with the former nations, even for a few minutes.

"Without Eduard and Raivis to carry messages, feeding the others isn't much fun," she grumbled. "It was funny to see them pass messages around, but now, none of them even know Iceland is dead."

She drew a square on a piece of paper and began filling it in, watching red ink replace the white of the paper as she tried to think of a solution.

"They're funnier when they're together…and it _is_ annoying to have to gather them all up every time I want to play…so if they were always together…"

She clapped her hands together.

"Yes, I think that'll work! That'll work very well."

She would have to see to it later. She jotted the idea down, just so she wouldn't forget, and then went back to what, in her opinion, was a far more pressing problem.

_Somehow, I have to get Raivis to like me._

She tapped the pen on her desk, but no answer presented itself. Panem sighed and went back to trying to fill the paper completely with red, until she was finally almost desperate enough to go and ask _Belarus_ for love advice, simply because she was the only other female nation, past or present, at her disposal.

_Belarus hated Lithuania, didn't she…? But then they were lovers, and how did that happen? Lithuania was kind to her. So if I'm nice to Raivis, and don't involve him in anything that happens in the prison, maybe… Yeah. I think that's a good idea._

She leaned back in her chair, stretched, and grinned as she glanced out the window into the sunlight outside.

"Two good ideas in one day, stupid Iceland's dead, and my plans are going great. I think this is going to be a good day."

* * *

**And today's prize for "acting like an over-emotional teenager" goes to Basch probably. Or they can all share it. xD**

**Welp, that's that and Iceland's dead and once again I am sorry. And Panem is not. As usual.**

**Right, and I won't be updating next week because I'll be in Florida, so I'll see you all when I get back! Thank you all for your support so far! This story may be drawing to a close in terms of how many chapters are left, but at the same time, there's still a long way to go, and I wouldn't have made it this far without everyone cheering me on. **


	51. Tactical Realignment

Chapter Fifty-One: Tactical Realignment

He should have known nothing was going to happen to him or anyone else, because the soldiers came, not Panem. But he didn't think of that; he_ couldn't_ think of that, not with the threat of having to witness another torture session or having to kill someone else looming over him the way it did.

He didn't fight, of course - there was no point in fighting anymore - and the soldiers laughed at him, mocking his weakness, but he wasn't listening.

They didn't go as far this time, just down the hall, directly past the kitchen. America thought of Estonia and the broken glass in his hands and feet, and just for a minute, he remembered that his life could be a lot worse, and that steeled his resolve a little. Then the guards pushed him into an unfamiliar room and left him there, and his courage began to slip away again.

The room looked exactly like his prison cell - dark, barren, and cold - except that it was several times bigger, and already occupied. Lithuania and Belarus sat side by side on the floor, and America had honestly never been happier to see anyone in his life.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked, stupidly, because of course they weren't, and he knew it.

Belarus looked up at him, nodding. "We are not hurt. We have never been in this room before, though."

"Yeah, I know," America said. "I don't know what's up now. I guess it's…probably just, you know…"

"If it was going to be torture, I would think it would be done somewhere we're already familiar with, like the conference room or…or that glass room," said Lithuania. "It's probably not torture, but we shouldn't expect anything less than that. Tricking us like this is something she would do."

"She's smart like that," America mumbled, sinking down on the floor next to Lithuania. "I will say that: Panem is no idiot."

"If she was an idiot, we wouldn't be here," Lithuania agreed, and there was really nothing else to say after that, so America leaned his head on Lithuania's shoulder - like a scared little kid, but he knew it would reassure Lithuania as much as it reassured him - and waited for whatever might come, torture or otherwise.

* * *

This room didn't look like a torture chamber, but Russia knew from personal experience that anywhere could be turned into a place of torture at a moment's notice, if one had the proper tools. He stood in the doorway, awkwardly, not sure where to go. Latvia was conspicuously absent, but America, Lithuania, Belarus, Switzerland, and Italy were all clustered on the floor, and he didn't know if he should go over to them, or whether he should stay where he was.

It was Lithuania who noticed him first, Lithuania who lifted a shaking hand to beckon him over. He went hesitantly; maybe Estonia had been the only one who outright hated him, but if the others wanted him to keep his distance, he would. America offered a tight smile, Italy an oblivious grin.

"I don't suppose you know why we're here, Ivan," Lithuania said. "We've all been talking, and we've been told nothing, nor have any of us seen Panem."

He shook his head. "I also know nothing, nor have I seen Panem. I am sorry."

There was a long silence, before Italy piped up, his cheerful voice displaying just a hint of nervousness.

"I wonder when Iceland and Latvia are going to get here."

Russia glanced at Lithuania, saw him sigh and bring his knees closer to his chest, and saw Belarus squeeze his hand comfortingly.

_She really does love him, after all._

No one answered Italy, and Russia saw him fidgeting uncomfortably, looking more nervous by the second, as they waited and Iceland and Latvia did not appear.

"Feliciano," he said at last, "I do not think they are coming."

Italy blinked. "Huh? Why not?"

He didn't want to answer; he knew Panem hadn't killed Latvia, would never kill Latvia, but if he wasn't here, he probably wasn't coming. It had been about ten minutes, he thought, since he'd been brought in, and still there was no sign of anyone. As for Iceland, he thought he knew, but he also knew enough to realize that Italy would not want to hear the truth.

"Well…I just do not think they are coming right now," he said, avoiding the truth.

Then the truth came out anyway.

"Iceland is _dead_," Switzerland said flatly. "He was dying two days ago; he's surely long gone by now."

Lithuania flinched; Italy merely looked ever so slightly surprised.

"Oh," he said, very quietly. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

No one had anything to say to that, and what_ could_ they say, when Italy thought this was a dream and was probably consoling himself with the thought that he would see Iceland again when they woke up, whenever that might be.

As someone who had let himself be deluded by his own, overly childish thoughts, Russia understood what Italy was doing, and yet, he was not sure whether it would be best for Italy to never accept that this was not a dream, or to remain forever believing that he could wake from his nightmare.

_Knowing what is true might hurt him even more. Maybe it would be best for him not to find out. His delusions, unlike mine from long ago, are not harming any of us._

* * *

With Estonia's death, Latvia had lost all remaining privacy. Panem, apparently, had decided that she now had the right and privilege to barge into Latvia's room at any time, without knocking or announcing herself in any way.

It was enough to make him want to hide in the corner and never come out, except if he did that, she would find him and scold him and drag him out, and that would be even more problematic.

So he ate his meals with Panem and tried not to think about what must be happening downstairs, about his friends hurting and dying. He'd thought not knowing would be easier, and in a way it was, but at the same time, it was terrible and frightening. He'd been left alone for hours just today, left alone to fantasize about what might be happening. Knowing Panem, if she wasn't with him, she was doing something to hurt someone else.

He wondered if, if he acted like he was becoming devoted to her, she would stay with him more, if he could distract her from the others, but somehow, it no longer seemed worth it. He didn't want her near him, because she wasn't just the personified ghost of her own childhood now, but a ghost dragging with her a thousand other ghosts, none of them as pleasant as the child Panem, whose ghost he had learned to live with, if not accept.

He'd become sure that ghosts were real. He could feel them all around him, even now, as he sat on the roof with Panem and looked out at the sunset.

"Are you happy, Raivis?" she asked. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I like it," he said, and he did like watching the sunset, but he could not enjoy it now, with her beside him, making her motives painfully clear.

_She's doing all the things she knows I like, just to win me over. It's really manipulative, honestly, and no, I don't like it. But could I explain all that to her? She doesn't care. She'll never care. She just wants me to love her, and that is something that I can never do._

"It's beautiful, Perri," he murmured, and some kind of sad, desperate impulse prompted him to add, "But I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

_I can't pretend. I can't pretend to love you when you've destroyed _everything._ The problem is, I do love you, just not the person you are now. I still love the past you. But I can't say this to you, because you won't listen. You never listen. When we talk, we just have the same conversations over and over again. Nothing changes. If you have it your way, things will always stay the same, unless I learn to love you as you are. _

"I can't pretend right now," he said, finally, because surely she could understand that, at least. "I'm just…I'm just tired. Please let me go to sleep."

She said nothing; he could feel her watching him and he hoped, desperately, that she wouldn't hurt anyone else for this, that she'd at least let him take his own punishment now, when Estonia was no longer there to take it.

"All right, Raivis," she said at last, standing up. "Whatever you want."

_Whatever I want…except for the thing I want most of all. _

He let her take him back inside, and once in his room, he shut the lights off and sat down next to his bed, waiting until the last of the sunset had left the sky, leaving him in darkness. The darkness didn't make it better, not at all, but at least, at least he didn't have to see the pretty things around him, didn't have to remember where he was and how alone he was now, how alone he would be for the rest of his life.

He couldn't talk to himself, because Panem was probably listening and would use it against him. But he flicked on the lamp, opened his notebook - the notebook full of blank pages that he did not know how to fill - and began to write, not poetry, but something that was neither story nor essay.

_Once, there was sunlight in the world. It spread across everything, and the world was a good place to be. But then it came to pass that the sunlight began to fade, and when the sunlight faded, so too did joy. Humans cannot exist without joy. Without happiness - without a reason to live - there's no point in anything._

The words wouldn't come. He couldn't make them. He was just too tired, too tired to try and make the words beautiful like they had once been. He was more exhausted than he had ever been.

He turned the light off again and lay on the floor in the dark, staring up at the blackness around him. And, despite the uselessness of his words, they began to echo in his head.

_If I'm not happy…there's no reason to live. _

It was shameful, _terribly _shameful, for him to think that, when he knew there were people depending on him.

_But they aren't…they aren't depending on me. Not anymore. I'm never going to see them again. Eirikur is dead. Eddy is dead. I'll never see the others again. Panem says so. So there's no point._

"What if things changed?" He hoped that, by speaking aloud, he could somehow drive his inner thoughts away. "What if it got better? What if Perri got better?"

_But Raivis, you know that can never be._

* * *

Maybe he was just being paranoid.

Lithuania tried to convince himself of that, over and over, but as the hours lengthened and no one came to torment them, he became more and more certain that he was right.

They had all been placed, effectively, in a prison cell together. Anyone else - Russia and Italy least - would view this as an accidental mercy, as something that would make them all feel better. And he wanted to think the same, but he also knew by now that Panem did nothing by accident, and that this was no accident either.

Placing them together had been kind, yes, but if he was right, it was also the worst thing she could have done.

"Toris?"

It was the middle of the night, and he hadn't realized Russia was still awake. In the faint light from the single bulb hung from the ceiling, he could see Russia watching him worriedly, now that he turned to look.

"Ivan." He smiled, but it must have seemed forced, because Russia's frown deepened.

"Are you all right?"

He didn't want to ruin Russia's hopes, he really didn't want to, but he also thought that, of all of them, Russia needed to be prepared. They all needed to be, but him most of all.

_As much as I hate to admit it…Ivan has more chance of staying sane than I do._

"I think this is going to be another form of torture," he said. "I know…she probably hasn't put us here to _witness_ torture, but to see its effects."

Russia frowned, looking puzzled, and Lithuania hastened to explain.

"We probably won't have to watch the torture itself," he said, "but, all sharing a cell, we'll have to cope with each other's pain when it's at its worst. So, if I am tortured, or you are tortured, or Natalya or Feliciano or Alfred or Basch, we will all have to watch the tortured person suffer and struggle to recover. And some of us…won't always have the will to recover."

"Do you really think that?" Russia asked, wide-eyed.

"I don't know," Lithuania admitted, sighing. "I think…I think it's very likely. But it could be that's not what she has in mind, although if not that, I don't know what."

"Will…will you be all right with that?"

"I'll…I'll be fine." He forced himself to smile, and he _knew_ Russia wasn't buying the lie, but what was he supposed to do?

_I can't tell him 'I'll probably go insane soon'. That's not something he needs to hear. He, among all of us, probably holds the most hope, even now. I can't destroy it. I have to let him hope…for as long as he still has the strength._

"Are you scared?" Russia asked. "I'm scared."

Lithuania's smile was more ironic than it was forced, this time, as he looked around at the pitiful, sleeping nations. America stirred fitfully, whimpering, while Italy and Belarus lay rigid and still, curled close around America. As Lithuania watched, Italy, who might or might not be asleep, slipped his hand into America's, and the blond boy's whimpers grew quieter. Switzerland slept leaning against the wall, away from the others, his ragged hair concealing his face and any pain he might feel.

"We're all scared, Ivan. But there's nothing we can do about it, not now. We have to live with that fear…or give in to it. Which would you rather do? Suffer in fear, or go insane, because you let your fear take over every part of you?"

He hadn't expected Russia to take his question so seriously, but as he watched, Russia's face darkened in confusion and pain.

"Suffer," he said. "I would much rather suffer from fear and pain than go insane again. If I was to go insane again, I might hurt you, and even though it would feel better at that time, later on, it would hurt me more than suffering in comparative sanity. What about you, Toris?"

And for a moment he remembered Russia's words from decades ago.

_"I am not insane, Litva!"_

And now they talked about insanity as if it was normal, as if everyone, at some time in their lives, fell victim to insanity.

"I would…I would rather suffer. If I went insane, I don't think…I don't think I would hurt anyone. I don't have that kind of insanity. But if I went insane, it would hurt people without, without me actually striking them. I wouldn't want to do that. Even if…if I believe that I'm completely worthless, and it wouldn't matter if I went insane…I still know that it would hurt you all. So I'll try to remain sane as long as possible."

Silence, and in the silence he began to feel guilty that he had shared all this with Russia, who, of all people, did not need to hear his burdens. Then there was a quiet rustling noise, and Russia's arms were around him, shielding him from everything outside.

"You are still…such a strong person," Russia said.

_I'm not. I haven't been for such a long time... I've forgotten what it means to be strong._

"If I were you, I would not still be able to stand up, let alone think why it is that I must keep going," Russia said. "You really are…the strongest of all of us. You always have been."

_If only that strength had made me invincible. Then, perhaps, I could be of some use to you all, instead of waiting helplessly for all of us to die. _

* * *

It would be easier to give up hope, to turn themselves in and resign themselves to death than to press on like this, knowing the end result would be the same. Canada didn't doubt that they would be captured eventually, but at the same time, he refused to give in that easily.

_Even if we're captured, and eventually die…I'd rather die knowing that I fought until the end, rather than giving up hope when he might have still escaped._

On the one hand, there was very little real hope, but on the other, that small hope might mean they _could_ survive. And if they could survive - if there was even the smallest chance - Canada was willing to keep going.

They'd been searching the outskirts of the city for what felt like years, and yet it had only been a couple of days. Time seemed to go so much more slowly now than it had before the world fell apart. He felt like he'd spent years hiding in alleyways, stealing food from trashcans, although he'd only been there for a couple weeks at most.

"Does it seem like time is moving slowly now?" he asked Prussia, as they scoured the latest set of deserted streets.

Prussia shrugged. "It's because you're mortal now, Matt. It's like this, I think: we've had years - thousands in my case, maybe a couple hundred in yours - to live. Now, humans will live a hundred years if they're really lucky, right? So time passes more slowly to them. To us, who could expect to live a couple thousand years, decades pass in the blink of an eye."

"That doesn't explain why time is slowing down for me," Canada mumbled. "I haven't existed for_ that_ long."

"Yeah, it does," Prussia said. "You're human now, so of course time seems slower. You can expect to start aging, and to die of natural causes in, what, sixty years? How old are you? Physically, I mean?"

"Somewhere between eighteen and twenty," Canada said. He'd never really cared about how old he was, but now, it suddenly seemed important. "I think I'm older than Alfred, so maybe twenty?"

"Sounds about right," Prussia said, apparently believing that no one was interested in his own physical age. "But, yeah, the older you get as a human, the faster time goes, they say, so maybe it'll start speeding up again in a few years."

_If we make it that long._

If he was twenty - and he thought he was - he probably wouldn't live to be twenty-five. He wondered, if he did make it that long, would he ever start looking like an adult, instead of a shy teenager?

And it was while he was wondering about how the aging process would take effect on the former nations that he heard an almost inaudible whimper.

"Gil," he said, forgetting that Prussia was a lot older and he should really be respectful, "did you hear that?"

Prussia shook his head. "What? I didn't hear anything. Maybe you imagined it…or I'm going deaf, but I'm pretty sure that's not what it is."

Canada decided to ignore him, and turned away in the direction of the noise, which, to be completely honest, he was not sure he'd actually heard. Maybe Prussia was right; maybe he was imagining things, but despite his doubts, he was_ sure_ he had heard someone crying.

"Is there anyone out there?" he called softly, and then, taking a ridiculously stupid risk and not really caring what happened because of it, called out, "Lovino?"

And in answer came another, slightly louder whimper.

* * *

**I feel like it's been FOREVER since I posted anything here. xD How is everyone? Oh, next week's update will probably be on Friday night, because I'm supposedly testing for my black belt. (That's code for "next chapter may be last chapter because I may not be alive after Saturday". xDDD) Please pray I survive with minimal embarrassment. xD And as always, thank you for your support!**


	52. (Un)Spoken

**Well, this chapter comes a week late, but it has come at last. Last weekend was just too packed for me to swing the update, so I apologize for that. Hopefully, updates will continue on time for a while now, maybe even up until the end of the story. We'll just have to see. Until then, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two: (Un)Spoken

Had anyone told Italy Romano that he would one day be found by a nation he barely knew, cowering behind a pile of rubble in the midst of the apocalypse, he would have either recommended they see a psychologist or, depending on his mood, cursed at them for their stupidity.

As things were now, it appeared that this hypothetical person would have been right.

"What are you staring at?" he asked the other nation, who, he thought, was somehow related to America. "Don't you have someplace to be?"

"I was looking for you," announced the other nation, as Romano tried to think of his name. _He's not America, so…who's the other one? Canada. It's Canada, isn't it?_

"Are you okay?" asked the nation who was probably Canada. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm not hurt." He really wished Canada would go back wherever he'd come from and leave him alone, but he was starting to get the feeling that wasn't happening.

"What are you doing way out here?" If Prussia had been behind Canada to begin with, Romano hadn't noticed. He was there now, though, watching him with a curious, if not sympathetic look in his eyes.

"None of your business," he muttered, but of course Canada had already guessed. _He's always watching people; that I remember. He knows people, even if none of us can remember his name._

"You were looking for Spain, weren't you?" Canada asked, and the softness of his voice, the _understanding_, made Romano want to either punch him or cry, and he wasn't quite sure which. He decided not to do anything at all, which was an answer in itself, of course.

"You don't know what happened to him, then?" Prussia asked, and Canada shot him a look so uncharacteristic and fierce that Romano actually felt a bit afraid of him.

"If you tell us what you know, it might help," Canada said, turning back to Romano with his face calm once more. "But if you don't want to, I understand."

He shrugged helplessly, not wanting to think about it, but also wanting to know how they had known to come looking for him alone, and not for Spain as well.

"I don't know. He went out and didn't come back. I don't know…"

"We've been watching the public broadcasts in the square," Canada said, gently, "and we think he may be dead or captured."

_He's not dead. He's stupid enough to die, sure, but he's _not dead_. He's probably captured, though; they're right. He would have come back for me otherwise._

"I…"

"It's okay," Canada said. "You're not alone, all right? We're here. We're not going to hurt you. But we're also not going to leave you here by yourself."

"What makes you think I'd want to stay with you?" he snapped. _Don't leave me here alone._

"Well…I just…I thought you'd be lonely. And I thought…I thought it would be better if we all stayed together, so none of us have to be alone, even if we do end up getting captured."

"Basically, Mattie here cares too much and wants to help you out," Prussia says. "So you should probably take him up on it. Also, if you have any place to stay that's nicer than the back alleys downtown, we're moving in."

"Gil_bert_…" Canada hissed. Prussia shrugged.

"I was just saying. It'd be great if we could find somewhere to hole up for a while, anyway."

_I could tell them no. I could just leave. There's really no reason for them to follow me… But they're alone too, and they're right, Antonio's…probably not coming back. _

"There's a place," Romano said. "It's small and you probably won't like it, but it's close to here. You can stay if you want, at least…until Antonio comes back. Then we'll have to see."

He expected one or both of them to argue with him, to try and convince him of the fact that Antonio would never return, but neither did. Instead, Canada smiled reassuringly, and Prussia shrugged.

"Like I said, beats sleeping in back alleys."

* * *

_Raivis has gotten so quiet._ She could understand his emotions without feeling them herself, and she knew he was sad, but he had become distant and angry, too, as if holding onto his memories of Estonia by copying the older Baltic's actions.

And she, frankly, hated it, hated the fact that, even now, this was still about the others, about their lives and deaths, and not about her. Not that it had _ever_ been about her. _He never really loved me before, but that, that was the point of all this. The point was to make him love me. I just want him to love me… Why can't he just do that for me, to make me happy? _

A nagging voice in the back of her mind kept insisting that she was doing everything wrong, that she would end up regretting her course of action, but she pushed that voice out of her head entirely and pushed on, blindly, searching for anything that would make Latvia happy, that could somehow make him care about her. He had to know - even if she hadn't told him - that time was short, that she didn't have him for long, and if they didn't get on with things she might be stuck in this loop forever, trying to get him on her side until the day she had to kill him.

And meanwhile, there were other things to consider. She couldn't find a single person in all of Panem who had just _one_ favored pastime, and if her hobbies happened to be torturing people and obsessing over Raivis, the rest of the world was just going to have to deal with it.

Even as she sat at breakfast with Latvia, her mind was not fully on him, but on the prisoners downstairs, on what she might have to do to break them. (In some cases, she was starting to believe that the breaking point was not far off.)

"You've got that look again," he said, his matter-of-fact tone disguising a minefield of pain, fear, and hope. "What are you planning?"

"Not telling," she said. _Even I know how sad you are, seeing them suffer. I'm not going to stop, but I don't have to tell you what happens to them, either. You're mine now. Stop caring about them._

"Because it will hurt me?" he asked. "Or to show that you can control me?"

Technically, he was right on both counts, but she wasn't about to tell him that. So she smiled, laughed, reaching over the food to pat him on the head.

"Don't you worry, sweetie. I've got everything under control."

"So you _are_ trying to control me," he muttered darkly, and she realized then that he hadn't actually eaten any of his breakfast, merely pushed it around to make it appear as if he had.

"You'll lose weight if you don't eat, and I don't think you can afford to lose all that much," she said. "Eat, Raivis." There was a threat buried in her words, and she knew he heard it, but he ignored her, looking down and shaking his head.

"Actually, I don't want to grow any taller, and I think I'm starting to. So I'd prefer not to eat much and stay the same size."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Maybe it does," he said, eyeing her in a way that suggested he was repressing some kind of sarcastic remark about _her_ rather unimpressive stature.

_Maybe if Alfred had bothered to cook something that actually tasted good instead of leaving me with microwave meals and a beginner's cookbook, _I_ might be taller. _

"Well, in any case, you'll starve to death if you don't eat, so eat."

_I cooked your stupid breakfast for you, now eat it, _she didn't say, because, whether she had actually cooked the breakfast or not, she would never even hint that she had. _Personifications of powerful nations do _not_ cook._

She pulled her chair over so that she was sitting right next to Latvia, her chair almost touching his, and, picking up his fork, proceeded to attempt to feed him his breakfast.

"If you won't eat, I'll just have to make you."

And Latvia, with a resigned sigh, let her.

* * *

It wasn't that he couldn't contain it - he had been able to once, and he knew he must do it again - but that he was not sure he was strong enough to do what he had once done, to take everyone's pain and his own as well, and hold them inside of him, invisible to everyone but those he chose to let see.

He had realized that, whether or not she meant to do it, Panem was reminding him of his fear of not being strong enough, of not being able to save the others and of falling victim to his own weakness. She had rendered him powerless to save them, and yet she had offered him - intentionally or otherwise - the means to keep them from physical harm. But by torturing him, she could torture the others' minds, and in torturing him, she was slowly stripping away his sanity.

So when she came, he tried not to show his fear, although his body shook, although he grabbed Belarus' hand and held on, waiting, waiting, as Panem stood, looking over the pitiful group of nations as if choosing a victim. If he had not known better, he would have thought that she did not yet have a plan for the day's torture, but he knew her, knew that she left nothing unplanned, and he saw her gaze sharpen with cruelty and madness when she looked at him.

"Toris, would you come here?" Her voice was almost innocent, and yet there was a hardness beneath that innocence that spoke of coming cruelty. He had done many hard things in his life, and yet, to stand up and walk toward the promise of torture of his own free will had always been one of the hardest things, despite how many times he'd done it.

It was harder now, with Belarus gripping his hand more tightly than ever, as if begging him not to go.

"Natalya, let go," he said, very quietly. She looked up at him with sad, dark eyes, and he shook his head, willing her to let go and make this no harder than it had to be.

"I could come with you," she said, in a way that was more begging than suggestion.

"She would never allow that. Come on, let go. It will be over soon."

"No, no, not again…" Belarus' free hand went to the side of her head, fingers tugging at her matted hair. "I don't want it again, I don't…"

He reached down, trying to pry her fingers away from his, but she held on tighter, shaking her head. Near the doorway, Panem stood silent, watching, surely gaining some kind of twisted amusement from Belarus' terror.

"Nat," said America, "he's gonna be fine. I bet…I bet whatever happens, it'll happen right here in this room, so we'll…we'll be with him the whole time, even if we're not holding his hands. It's fine. It's gonna be fine."

"No, no…"

America was stronger than Lithuania, had always been stronger, physically speaking, and together they managed to pry Belarus' fingers apart, leaving Lithuania free to go. And still Belarus struggled, sobbing under her breath, and it was Russia who finally picked her up, as if she weighed nothing, and held her fast until she stopped struggling. But by that time, Lithuania had turned away and was standing before Panem, and he could only see out of the corner of his eye as Belarus stopped fighting and began to cry.

"Hush, Natasha, hush…" Russia soothed. "It will be all right, poor Natasha, hush…"

Lithuania forced himself not to think about Belarus or Russia or any of the others, focusing solely on Panem.

"What do you need me to do?"

She smiled. "Absolutely nothing. You can stand right there this whole time, if you like. I don't care."

It really didn't matter what she did to him. Some things hurt more in the physical sense, but in times like this, when she kicked and beat him and left a part of his mind free, he could hear the others' reactions and knew that they were suffering because of him. And he couldn't stop crying, although he wanted to, he couldn't stop begging and pleading for her to stop, just stop, because he could feel himself getting more and more panicked, more and more likely to try and kill himself - if that was even possible here - and he didn't want to do that, not here, especially not here, where there were five other nations who would either witness his death or have to find him lying dead some morning.

_If I could die right now, I would. I wish I would die right now. It hurts too much…it…I just want it to stop… Why doesn't it stop? _

And then suddenly it did. With one last, contemptuous kick, Panem was gone, no doubt having realized that much more of this would break him irreparably.

She did not want to break him, nor to kill him, not yet. She seemed only to want to plunge him into the darkness, and then, when he was on the brink of being consumed, to pull him back up into twilit realms again. She never let him reach the sunlight, though. He was not sure there was a sunlight to reach, not anymore, not in a world where people like her hurt others as they pleased.

"Why doesn't it stop…?" he whispered.

* * *

_If you could die for someone else, would you?_

Switzerland wondered if humans ever asked themselves that question, or if they just assumed that they would. Self-sacrifice was heroic, to them, and they always seemed to present it as easy, as if the natural human instinct was to give one's life for someone else, to take the bullet for a friend.

And maybe it was like that for humans; maybe, somehow, they were more selfless than nations, who knew the pain of death and shrank from having to experience it.

Wanting to give away one's life was one thing. Willingly sacrificing it when the time came was entirely different. That, at least, was probably a human instinct. He'd always tried to live as a human, but in the end, he didn't know much about their minds.

_Perhaps they're not much different. But the question remains: if I could die for someone else, would I?_

Lithuania was still sobbing, but Russia had released Belarus and she was with Lithuania now, whispering to him. Switzerland could not hear her, but he could guess at what she said. _'I'm sorry, I'm sorry I hurt you, it's my fault, please forgive me…'_

"It hurts." He knew Lithuania did not mean to speak so loud, but he also knew that it was all Lithuania could do to keep from screaming in pain, even now, when Panem had gone and his body was beginning to heal from the beating. He knew - they all knew - that Lithuania would be tortured again, and that it would continue to chip away at his sanity until there was nothing left of him but a shattered, empty shell.

"I know, Toris, it's okay…" America looked like he was struggling not to cry, Belarus was _still_ crying, Russia and Italy sitting quiet, at a loss for words. And they probably thought he wasn't watching, but he was, and he knew they were hurt, but he did not know how to help.

_If that girl had never existed, this wouldn't have happened. No one would be suffering like this. Heidi and Roderich wouldn't be dead. If Panem had never existed…_

But it wasn't as if they could make Panem not exist. They could not just erase something like that, something so evil and hard to kill. Nor could they keep her from driving Lithuania - and in the end, all of them - completely insane.

_So all we can do is delay the inevitable. Well…if it's to delay Toris losing his mind…I think there are a lot of things that I would be willing to do. I don't want to lose anyone else._

* * *

Romano's hideout was a small apartment near the top of a large complex, and, it appeared, most of the apartments on this floor were empty, making it a most convenient hiding place.

"I still don't know how he found this," Romano said. "But no one's bothered us here, and with things the way they are…most people don't want to live in the city. They'd rather go somewhere away from the politics and uncertainty."

Canada could certainly understand the sentiment. _Everything was so much better in the cabin with France…even if things were uncertain, and he was sick…at least we thought we were safe, and we didn't have to see news of our friends' capture and imprisonment every single day._

"I guess, until we find Spain, one of you can stay in his room," Romano muttered. "There are two beds in my room, so someone else can stay in there, too."

"I could sleep on the couch," Canada suggested. "It wouldn't be any trouble."

"The extra bed was here specifically for a situation like this," Romano informed him. "Antonio thought we might be able to find some of the others, and since this place was pretty secure… Well, you know. It would have been a good hideout."

"Seems like it's worked great for you," said Prussia. "And Romano? No one's taking Spain's room unless you think he's not coming back. It probably wouldn't bother him, but it feels wrong, ya know?"

Romano apparently had no reply for this, and Prussia made himself comfortable on the couch, informing them that he was going to try and get some decent sleep for once in his life.

"We should probably go in the other room," Canada whispered to Romano. "I don't want to bother him."

"I'm not bothered!" Prussia announced. Romano rolled his eyes.

"He'll never shut up if we stay in here. Let's go."

They left the living room, abandoning Prussia to his nap, and Romano led the way to the back of the apartment, where the bedrooms were located. One of the doors was closed, but the other led to a small bedroom, which was almost completely filled with two equally small beds.

"I'm short enough to fit on one of these," Romano said. "Not sure about you, though."

"I'll manage," Canada assured him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Thank you for letting us stay here. I think…I think both of us were sick of sleeping on the streets, although of course Gilbert would never admit that outright."

"He's a stubborn guy," Romano muttered. "Hyper, but stubborn too."

_Kind of like you,_ Canada thought, but he didn't dare say it, because he didn't really know Romano that well, and maybe he only _thought_ of him as stubborn and hyper. He might not really be that way at all.

_I don't really know people as they are, only as I've observed them, with only a few exceptions. And now…all of those exceptions …are probably dead._

"Are you okay?" Romano was sitting on the opposite bed, leaning against the wall, his knees tucked up to his chest, obviously pretending that he hadn't been watching Canada.

"I'm all right," Canada said. "Just tired."

"Yeah. Me too."

"It feels like it's been ages since I've slept in a bed," said Canada, "but really, it's only been a few weeks at most."

"It feels like it's been ages since I felt safe, but it's only been a couple of months," Romano mumbled.

"It feels like it's been ages since I had a family, but…that's not true at all. I still have family, just not the one I grew up with." He glanced up at Romano, cautiously. "I think all of us nations should be each other's family now, especially since we've lost our original families. Maybe that's stupid of me, but…thinking of Gilbert as my big brother, I feel comforted."

"As long as we don't count Panem as part of the family," Romano said, "it doesn't sound like a bad idea. Although I'd bet the others would have something to say about it. They all hate each other. They probably even hate us, just for existing."

"I think old hatred shouldn't be a part of this, not now. I think we have worse things to worry about, like Panem. Hating people who in the same situation we are, people who might help us, just seems stupid. I think, if we'd all worked together in the beginning, instead of rushing blindly off in all directions…there might have been a lot more hope for us."

He realized, suddenly, that he was talking too much, that Romano was staring openly at him now.

"I didn't know you could string that many words together at one time," Romano said, his voice blunt and matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry. I'm talking too much."

"Sounds like you needed to."

"Well…Gilbert isn't exactly one for deep conversation. I mean, I'm sure he thinks about this stuff, but…"

"But he doesn't want to say it out loud."

"No one wants to say it out loud. Saying the words makes them all the more real. But there's nothing we can do. It's real either way. And sometimes…sometimes you just have to say it. Sometimes, the things you don't say do more harm than the things you do."


	53. Torn Apart

**Whew! This is the first chapter in a while to come close to 5K words, which hopefully means it's actually a decent chapter. In any case, I hope you'll enjoy it, and thank you all for your support so far! **

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Three: Torn Apart

They'd been waiting in the half-darkness for what seemed like days, with the only way to measure the time being their once-daily meals, brought by jeering soldiers who kicked and tormented them. Belarus was afraid of the soldiers, Italy understandably on edge, and all of them, even Switzerland, were aware of a certain painful tension in the room.

Panem's intentions, immediate and long-term, were clear. She _would_ break all of them - there was no doubt of that, but she clearly planned to break Lithuania first, and, in doing so, planned to break all of their minds.

America knew his sister - or, at least, he knew the monster she'd become. They all knew the monster, although they did not know or understand the girl who had inhabited Panem's body before she had become what she now was. So they waited, knowing that when she came they would do nothing, that they would let her take Lithuania - or one of the others, if she came for someone else before him - and they would let her do what she wanted, rather than face torture and death themselves.

They clung to each other - Belarus to Lithuania, America to both of them - although he tried to deny it - and Italy, oddly enough, to Russia. Only Switzerland remained aloof, and yet it was he who America found holding Lithuania one night, when the brunet Baltic was crying and could not seem to figure out how to stop. Switzerland might not speak to the rest of them - might not want to speak to them - but it was clear that he cared about Lithuania, for whatever reason.

"He does not want to talk to us because he is afraid of being hurt," Russia said, as if reading America's thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Basch. He is afraid that we are all going to die, and he is afraid that because he feels strongly about our safety, he will be hurt by what happens to us. So he refuses to speak to us or to care for us."

"What about Toris?"

Russia shrugged. "How can anyone not care for Toris? I certainly cannot stop myself from caring about him, although it would probably be in his best interests if I did."

"What are we gonna do if…" He trailed off, not merely because he did not want to say that Lithuania might lose his mind, but because someone had thrown the door open. It was as if the mere thought of Lithuania being hurt had called down torture upon him, for there stood Panem, smiling.

Russia cursed - or at least, America assumed it was a curse; he still had very little grasp of Russian, even after all this time. Lithuania's moan was quiet, but nonetheless, they all heard it, and pitied him.

"Toris!" Panem's voice wasn't as calm as it had been on previous days, nor did she look as composed as she had then. "Get over here. And save the drama, or I'll make you wish you'd been strong enough to walk up here without your friends' help."

_Please don't._ A thousand protests blossomed and died inside America's head, held captive by a fear as strong as the walls that imprisoned his body.

Lithuania stood, shakily, and walked to the front of the room, and as he passed it was all America could do not to scream, to tell him not to go.

_If I speak…if I even try to help him…he'll be hurt even more. This is what it means to be powerless. Not only can I do nothing for him, but if I even make one move to help him, it will make everything worse._

* * *

Humans, in times of great danger and distress, often seemed to think _'someone do something_'. Switzerland knew humans, he knew what they thought, and it was not often that they thought _'I should do something'_. But maybe there were humans who did. Maybe it was just that he wasn't connected to his people anymore, and so he'd forgotten that humans did not have to lie down and take whatever suffering was forced upon them. Humans might not have the same resistance and inability to die as the nations, but that did not mean they could not fight. That did not mean they had to stand by and watch their friends be hurt.

_How did I ever think that my only option was to cut myself off from everyone, when, really, what I most needed to do was to stand with them - to protect them? Even if I die…I'd rather die protecting them than die alone. _

It was desperate selfishness, not bravery, that made him move forward now, but he was moving forward with a goal in sight, and if he could only say what he had rehearsed in his mind, he thought he could reach that goal, although, of course, it would make Panem laugh if he managed to achieve his objectives. And yet, he would be all right with her having a little fun at his expense, as long as he was the only one being broken by her cruel sense of humor.

"You don't have to listen to her," he said, standing up and fixing his eyes on Lithuania. "There's no law that says you do."

"Actually, Basch, he doesn't have a choice," Panem said. "If he resists me, there will be consequences, and you don't want him hurt too badly, do you?"

"He's not going to resist you. I am."

"Basch," Lithuania pleaded, "just, just forget about it. I'll be fine…"

_You won't be fine. We all know that. You're so near your breaking point that we can all practically see the seams tearing. You can't take much more. So we should all protect you, but if no one else can…I will. I'm not scared of dying. Not anymore._

"You're going to resist me?" Panem laughed. "Go ahead and try. You failed to kill me before, and I've no doubt you'll do the same thing now."

He knew he couldn't kill her, not permanently, and killing her for a few hours was not his goal. But, let her think it was, let her think of him as the troublemaker to be punished. Still, the satisfaction he felt, slamming her against the wall, hearing her cry out in surprise, was deeper than he liked to admit, even to himself.

"What if I _did _kill you?" he asked. "What if I did? You might not die permanently, but it would certainly hurt for a while. Would you like that? Because I'll do it! I'll do it right now!"

"You'd never hurt a child," Panem informed him. "That much, I know."

"You're not a child. Not anymore."

_"Basch?"_

_"Yes, Heidi?" He looked up from his literal piles of paperwork to see Liechtenstein standing in front of his desk, her hands twisted together nervously. "What's the matter?"_

_"I…well, it's just, while I was sitting out in the hall at the meeting yesterday, I was talking to this girl, and…"_

_"What girl?"_

_"Panem - America's little sister."_

_"The micronation with no actual land?"_

_"Yes, her, but listen, Basch… She seemed really lonely. I'm not sure America is taking good care of her."_

Back then, when Liechtenstein had been alive and had noticed Panem's loneliness - probably far too late to do anything about it, seeing how Panem acted now, not so very many years later - then, Panem had been a child. She had lost that title now. Children were supposed to be innocent and incorruptible, and if Panem had been corrupted then she was no longer a child.

And she smiled, now, with the confidence of an adult, and shoved him away with all the force in her small body. He reeled backwards, barely managing to prevent himself from falling.

"You're right about that, Basch. I'm no child. I'm stronger than you now. It's too bad, though, that you couldn't kill me. It would have bought you a little more time."

_I don't want any more time._

He kept his face neutral, certain that he could prevent her from reading his thoughts, and, for once, he did.

"I'd planned to torture Lithuania, but that can always be done later, and, to be honest, I'm rather bored with him. It'll be far more fun to kill you than it would be to torture him again."

"Basch…" Lithuania whispered.

"It's fine, I don't…" _I don't care, I don't care what she does to me, can't you see that? I don't care if I die. The rest of you will just have to get along without me. And you, you who have everyone rallying around you, shouldn't take this too heavily, when you'll probably lose all of them and your own sanity before the end._

He could not say any of that aloud, though, because he knew enough to realize that Lithuania and the others did not need to hear something like this, did not need to hear one of their comrades giving up. So he turned, faced them, and spoke the truth in the way that, he hoped, would be least hurtful to them.

"I'm not afraid of dying. If I'm going to die, I'd rather die now than later. That's just the way I am. So, don't worry too much about me. I'll be fine."

Then he turned away, because the grief on Lithuania's face was too much to bear, even if he _wanted_ this. Lithuania didn't deserve to blame himself for this, but hopefully the others would be able to talk him out of it, or, at least, talk him out of enough that he would be able to stay sane longer than he would have otherwise. _That's the only thing I hope to accomplish by this, after all._

And Panem led him from the room, and as the door closed, he saw Lithuania bury his head in his hands, sobbing.

_Don't cry. This is what I want. Everything's going to be fine now._

* * *

"It's not your fault, Toris," was the first thing out of America's mouth when the door closed, separating them from Switzerland, probably forever.

"Then is it yours?" he asked. "It wasn't you that he saved, Alfred."

"Toris, do not take this personally, but I am not so sure it was you he was trying to save."

He looked up at Russia, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"Basch…Basch was trying to save you, yes," Russia said. He seemed nervous, perhaps even confused, uncertainty reflecting in his violet eyes. "What he did, he did to deflect Panem's anger away from you, but I do not think that this was the only reason for it."

"Why, then?" Belarus asked. "What was he trying to do?"

"He wanted to save himself," Russia said. "Like you, Toris, he wanted to save himself from getting hurt more. If we understand nothing else about him, the two of us can at least understand wanting to avoid being hurt again."

"He…he was…" _Of course he was. He was already so close to wanting to kill himself, what with Heidi having died… Losing Roderich obviously broke him, and none of us did anything for him. I should have done something…_

"Is he blaming himself again?" America's voice was small, hesitant, Russia's sigh resigned.

"He is always blaming himself. I do not think there is any way to convince him that he ought not to do such things."

"We should have done something," Lithuania whispered.

"He did not want us to do anything." Russia crouched in front of Lithuania, his voice gentle. "Toris, I may not agree with you on the issue of suicide, but I do understand the urge to end your own life. What Basch is doing is not suicide in the literal sense, but it is the same principle. Just as it was selfish for me to stop you from dying when I knew you would only be hurt as long as you lived, so it would be selfish for us to keep Basch from dying now. Do you understand?"

"It's…it's only…"

"It is only okay when you are the one who wants to end your life," Russia said, quietly, soberly. "That is what you mean to say, isn't it?"

"He doesn't deserve to die, Ivan."

"No more do you, my Toris, but I can no more convince you of that than you could have convinced Basch. Please…I know it is your nature to hate yourself, but in this instance, try not to. This is not your fault. This situation has never been your fault."

_Then please explain why I feel that I am the one to blame._

* * *

She had to give Switzerland points for effort. She'd known he was close to either giving up or trying to go out in a blaze of glory, but she really hadn't expected the latter, at least not so soon. And, really, he didn't even seem to want to go down in flames. If he had, he would have actually fought her, instead of letting her drag him off to some unknown destination without so much as trying to murder her.

_To be fair, this isn't exactly characteristic of me, either. I'm supposed to keep to the plan; it scares them that I have everything planned. But a little spontaneity can't hurt either. Keeps them on their toes._

Boredom was a petty motive for murdering someone, but coupled with vengeance, she supposed it would pass for something more than a ridiculous plot twist.

_I never thought I'd get bored with torture. But I guess…I have. It's not quite enough anymore, especially not with Toris taking so long to actually go insane. Maybe I've been hoping someone would do something stupid like this, to give me an excuse to kill them. Everything's more fun when you know it'll end in your victim's death, but I can't kill Toris yet. Not yet._

She didn't let herself think about the other possibility - the probably-true possibility - that her boredom stemmed, not from a loss of interest in torture, but from the fact that she cared far more about what happened to Latvia than she did about killing the others, and she was making no progress with him. She _would_ make some progress, somehow. She had to.

Switzerland kept his head down - literally - for the entirety of the walk through the complex, though Panem knew he had to be watching his surroundings, taking everything in, including the fact that they had left the main headquarters now, and were headed for another, smaller building. She could see the white building through the trees, had made the call before she left the main headquarters, and as she approached, she saw a man in a white coat waiting for her.

"Keys, Curtis," she told him as she passed, and he handed them to her.

"I never thought you'd actually _use_ that machine of yours," he said.

"Aw, are you scared?" she asked, smiling at the pale-faced scientist. "Don't you want to see if your babies can actually do what you created them to?"

"Not in person, no."

"Get going," she said, "or I might make you watch. I could use the company."

Curtis didn't wait for her to carry out her threat. Not two minutes later, he was hurrying away through the trees, and Panem was leading Switzerland into the white building.

"What exactly are we here for?" Switzerland asked, and there was no fear in his voice, but the fact that he'd spoken at all told her that, somewhere, some part of him was trying and failing to keep from panicking.

"You'll see," she said. "But, of course, you'll do exactly as I say, or I'll take you back to your cell, and someone else can come here in your place. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"There's nothing I'd want less."

_Stupid, chivalrous nations, always trying to die for each other. You're all gonna die in the end. I'll make sure of it, so there's no point in your sacrifice._

On one hand, she knew she was supposed to admire him for his courage, but on the other hand, it was stupid of him to try and be brave now, when he and all the others were going to die, and they both knew it. It would be a lot more fun for her if he'd go kicking and screaming to his death, but, somehow, these nations never seemed to. She wondered if humans did.

_Someday, I'll find out._

* * *

They'd come to a stop outside a metal door, somehow out of place in this building full of white, and Switzerland tried to act as if he didn't care what was going to happen as Panem inserted the key into the lock, but it was hard not to care when he knew he was going to die, yet had no clue of the method that would be used to bring about his demise.

He took a deep, quiet breath, glancing over at Panem to make sure she hadn't noticed. She was still busy with the door, her long hair falling into her face, but as the lock clicked open and she straightened, she turned to him, smiling.

"You're scared, aren't you?"

"It doesn't matter." _I wish I wasn't afraid. _"I'm going to die either way."

Panem shrugged. "Well, that's one way to look at it. Come on."

He followed her inside, noticing at once that they were in a small room at the top of the white building, looking down on something in a pit far below them.

"Want to look?" Panem asked, grinning. He didn't, but she pushed him toward the wide, glass window that took up the entire far wall, and he looked down in spite of himself.

The room below was no torture chamber. Rather than having torture tools stacked in a corner, this room was inhabited by creatures such as Switzerland had never seen. At first glance, they appeared to be dogs, but Switzerland got the uncomfortable feeling that there was something off about these creatures, something that made them not quite dogs, not quite wolves, and yet, not quite anything in between.

"Do you like them?" Panem asked. "They're Curtis' project - well, one of them - and you're going to help me test them out. What do you think of that?"

"I'm a person, not your experimental guinea pig."

"You're whatever I want you to be. And right now, you're pretty useless as anything but a test subject in a probably fatal experiment, Basch. You've done nothing this entire time except fail to save people, so why in the world would anyone want to keep you around? You couldn't save your sister, nor your best friend."

"Roderich wasn't…"

"Then what was he? Your lover? Because that's the only other thing I can think of. Poor Basch…you couldn't even save Roderich, and he was _depending _on you…"

"I'm not the one who killed him!" He wasn't sure if he was crying or not, maybe he was, but he didn't _know_. "You killed him, and Heidi too, you killed them! It's your fault they're dead! You deserve to die, to pay for what you did to them! They didn't deserve to die!"

"By that argument, no more do you, but you are going to die nonetheless."

He leapt at her, and he'd intended, fully intended, to kill her, to break every bone in her body with his bare hands if he had to. Anything to avenge Austria and Liechtenstein, to avenge everyone who had died, everyone who had suffered, to avenge his own suffering.

But she was stronger - probably always had been, or else her physical strength had begun to swell as her government grew stronger, although she never became the least bit taller. She kicked out savagely, bringing him to his knees, and she bent and locked her hands around his throat, pushing him back, against the wall.

"Nice try, Basch." She smiled. "But I've come too far by now for that to work on me. You're not going to kill me. I'm going to kill you, although first you can take a nice, long nap."

_She can't kill me. She can't, I'm going to kill her, she can't do this…_

But apparently, she could. After all, when had justice ever been on his side, or any nation's?

_He dreamed of Austria and Liechtenstein, but he knew it wasn't real, and so, even as his sister held him, telling him that everything was okay, he could not believe her. He could not believe it, because he knew they had died. He remembered dragging Liechtenstein's body from the rubble. He remembered feeling Austria go limp in his arms. He remembered. He could never forget. _

_In his dream, he wrenched himself from Liechtenstein's arms, watching as the joy on her face turned to confusion._

_"Basch, what's wrong?"_

_"You're not real. This isn't real. You're dead! You're dead, I couldn't save you, so don't act like you're happy to see me! It's my fault you're dead!"_

_"What are you talking about, Basch?" Austria's violet-eyed gaze was somehow understanding, and lacked the confusion in Liechtenstein's expression. "You couldn't be the cause of this. We all know who's to blame, and it's not you. It has never been you."_

He woke to the memory of Liechtenstein and Austria's voice, woke to blinding light and the restless growls of animals somewhere below him. And he remembered what Panem had told him, remembered what his fate would be, and yet he still struggled, panicked to find that his arms were tied, that he was suspended in the air, with nothing at all above or below him.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the animals - not quite wolves, not quite dogs; mutts, Panem had called them, and mutts they certainly appeared to be - pacing below him, looking up almost hungrily. And he was in fact suspended far above them, secured by a rope that, even if he could somehow loosen it, would bring him no salvation, but would likely drop him into the pit of ravenous animals and speed his death.

_I don't…I don't want to die like this!_ His panic was sudden and crippling, the kind of panic that caused him to struggle frantically against the ropes, searching for an escape from the animals below and the rope that held him now.

And then, as if to make matters worse, the rope jerked, as if controlled by an unseen lever, and he felt his body beginning to lower toward the mutts below.

* * *

Boredom was a dangerous thing, when the bored person in question was someone with access to torture weapons and semi-classified experiments, Panem reflected, as she waited for Switzerland to die.

She lowered the rope a little every hour or so, more or less depending on how bored she was getting, so for one hour he was suspended just out of the mutts' reach, allowed to speculate on whatever might happen next. (Of course, he already knew, but it didn't matter. He could hope he was wrong.)

This was much better than torturing Lithuania over and over, much better than watching America cry - although that was still quite amusing in its own right. He'd probably throw quite the tantrum if he could see Switzerland now, hanging there with half his body torn and bloody. She wondered if it was stubbornness or something more supernatural that had kept him from falling unconscious so far. All in all, though, his reactions were slowing, and she was starting to get bored again.

"J-Jones?"

The nervous young soldier, Bailey, looked as if he wanted nothing more than to get as far away from her as possible, and she really had to hand it to him for not just blurting out his message and bolting off someplace as soon as he could. _Maybe I underestimated his usefulness._

"What is it, Bailey?"

"T-that kid…the personification of Latvia...he keeps asking for you. He's getting upset, so I think he knows…"

"Raivis knows nothing. He only suspects. Be sure to keep it that way, Bailey, and tell him I'll return to him when it suits me, although I'm touched to hear that he was thinking of me."

"Y-yes, I'll do that." Bailey glanced past her, into the room where Switzerland still hung, half-conscious. "Is he dead yet?"

"Not yet. Soon." She watched Bailey for a moment in silence, remembering that Switzerland had nearly killed him, wondering if he harbored any resentment toward the blond nation. _Might as well find out._ "Would you like to watch him die, Bailey?"

"I…uh…"

"He almost killed you," she reminded him. "You have every right to want him to suffer."

Bailey said nothing, looked away, scuffing his shoes against the floor, but she saw the look in his eyes and knew that he wanted Switzerland to die, or, at least, to suffer horribly.

"If you feel like leaving, you can," she told him, "but I'm getting tired of this game, so I'm going to end it."

She pulled the control switch all the way down, releasing the rope, and Switzerland fell. Bailey flinched, and from that moment on, Panem decided to ignore him.

She'd harbored far too much bitterness against Switzerland - for never noticing her, for brushing her off, for choosing adorable little Liechtenstein and never giving _her _a second glance - to miss the chance at watching him suffer.

* * *

He'd been hanging there half-conscious for hours, vaguely aware of the fact that he was bleeding out from his legs, but somehow unable to care. He understood now why Lithuania screamed so loudly when he was tortured, now that he was hanging helpless himself, torn and bloodied.

It had been getting harder to breathe as time went on, harder and harder until he found himself gasping, fighting for every breath. And still the rope lowered, painfully slowly, and yet he did not pass out, merely remained awake, feeling the mutts tear at his body more and more as time went on.

_I wonder...why it has to hurt so much...and why...no matter what...no matter how much I hope it's about to end, I still end up hurting again. I wonder...if it will ever be over. _

He'd started drifting in and out of consciousness, dreaming again of Austria and Liechtenstein, and of the others, too, of Lithuania and Italy and even America, as if dreaming could somehow help him escape from this living nightmare.

And then, all at once, the rope jerked more violently than it had before, and then, before he could even register what had happened, he was falling.

He could imagine Panem somewhere close by, having grown bored with him hanging there, and finally, finally deciding to end him.

He should have felt relieved, and for a moment he did, but then he hit the ground and the mutts crowded around him, and all he could feel was blinding panic. His actual will to live aside, he didn't want to die like this, not now, not with these creatures crowding around him, tearing him apart.

He could hear the screams, and he knew, somewhere in his heart, that it was him screaming, but it didn't sound like him at all. He never cried, never screamed, but he was crying out now, in pain and grief, and if he was saying anything, he could not make out the words.

_I didn't want to die...until I could somehow make up for Roderich and Heidi dying. I thought I could do it like this, but...but this...just… I just want it to stop. I miss them. I miss them so much. It hurts._

It was a little depressing – as if all of this wasn't already horrible enough – to think that, after everything, after how strong he'd tried to be, now, at the end, when nothing mattered anymore, he was crying for Panem to stop hurting him. He should have been stronger. He should have kept from screaming until the very end.

But in the end, when it finally stopped hurting, somehow, his weakness and his failures didn't seem to matter all that much anymore.

He wondered if he was imagining Austria and Liechtenstein with him, or if they were really there. And for a moment, he wondered if Italy was right, if all of this had been a dream, and he was waking up at last. In any case, whether he was waking from a dream or passing into whatever came after death, at that moment in between, nothing – not even his body, broken and torn by claws and teeth – hurt anymore.

* * *

**Honestly, I think this is one of the more messed up things I've written in a while. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, though.**

**A quick note on updates: I estimate around eleven or twelve chapters will be all it takes to complete this fic, and hopefully what remains will be enjoyable to all of you. Again, thank you for your support, and I hope you continue to enjoy this (exceedingly gruesome) story. **


	54. Shadows Remain

**So, I return, with another chapter. Which, actually, may be one of the shortest chapters you'll see for the rest of this fic, as things are going to start moving a little (hopefully not TOO much) faster in the coming chapters. **

**Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading so far! :)**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Four: Shadows Remain

When the video came on, so unexpected and loud, it was literally all Belarus could do not to start screaming. She expected it to be Lithuania being tortured, even though Panem had never played video on those clips before and had no reason to do it now, had no reason to bring the audio clips back at all, when she and everyone else were always having to witness Lithuania's torture in the flesh.

It wasn't Lithuania on the screen; Lithuania was sitting right next to her, staring at the video feed with wide, glassy eyes. It was Switzerland, seemingly unharmed yet suspended by a rope, and at first she did not understand, until Russia's voice, deathly quiet and frightened, cut through the static from the video.

"Are those wolves down there?"

They were wolves, but not wolves, and she felt Lithuania begin to shake as she pressed closer to him, hoping for comfort for herself, or else that her presence could somehow reassure _him_.

"She...she wouldn't," he muttered. "Even she..."

Belarus threw her arms around him and held on, tightly. He needed comfort; he needed to be shielded, and she _would _shield him in the only way she still could.

"What's going on?" Italy asked, blinking curiously. "Is that Switzerland? Why's he tied up like that?"

America moaned and buried his head in his hands, shaking, and although Belarus could not reach him, Lithuania could, and it was Lithuania who reached out a trembling hand to clasp America's.

"Ivan, Feliciano, come over here," Lithuania said, his voice suddenly strangely calm. "If we must face this, let us...let us face it together. There is no reason for us to be alone."

So Russia and Italy came, hesitantly, and they all sat together, waiting for the inevitable. They had known, yes, that Switzerland would die, but as she watched the rope slowly jerking down, until the first of the creatures below leapt up and tore at his leg, Belarus could not imagine the reasoning behind putting anyone through such torment.

"You should not look, Feliciano," said Russia, but Italy shook his head, although he was deathly pale and shaking with fear.

"If...if this is what's going to happen to us in the end, then I should see it happening before it really does, right? It's good to be prepared, right?"

"I...I suppose, little one," Russia said. "But if you would rather not see it, there is no shame in protecting your own mind from pain."

And still the rope lowered, painfully slowly; still they watched, not wanting to but unable to look away, until finally it appeared that Panem had grown bored, and all at once, the rope gave way and Switzerland fell into the pit.

Belarus was certain that she was the only one still watching; Lithuania was sobbing with his face buried in her hair, Russia was covering Italy's eyes with his own face turned away, and she did not know what America was doing, but she doubted even he could stand to watch Switzerland being torn to pieces.

And yet she felt that someone should, if only so that, in coming days, they would remember Switzerland as he had lived and as he had died, so that there was someone who had watched - if there could not be someone who had been physically present - during his last moments.

_We owe him that much. Despite barely knowing him, I know he is - was - a good person, a strong person, a person like Toris. And so, like Toris, he deserves to have someone remember his death, even if it was terrible and bloody. People want to be remembered. I think. I'm not sure...I'd want someone to remember me. But just in case, I'll remember him._

And she'd always been attracted to violence, anyway, always had a sort of crazed fascination with it. Maybe her noble thoughts were only an excuse for the fact that, no matter what the reason, she could not tear her eyes away from the gruesome scene playing out before her, even with the love of her life sobbing into her hair.

_If I hadn't been such a violent person...maybe he wouldn't be crying now. Maybe he'd still be strong enough...strong enough to remember that maybe, there is something better beyond this. But now all he can see is other people's pain, seemingly brought about by his own failures._

* * *

He knew she'd killed someone, he _knew_; if she hadn't answered his summons even when he'd convinced that soldier - Bailey, his name was Bailey, someone had said - to go and tell her he needed to see her, she had to have killed someone.

Not knowing who was dead and who was hurt and who was mostly all right was worse than knowing everything. He would much rather have known that some of his friends were unharmed, even if it meant being completely certain that one of them was dead.

He heard the door squeak open, heard the cat-like footsteps on the carpet, and immediately decided that he was going to be as childish as possible until she told him what she'd done, because that was the only way, he was sure it was, and he had to _know_.

"Until you tell me who you killed and give me three reasons why you did it, I'm not going to eat and I'm not going to talk to you," he told her.

"I'm sure if I tortured you, you'd come back around without me telling you anything," Panem said.

"If you torture me, will you be able to live with yourself?"

Panem laughed. "Maybe not, Raivis, but I'm sure I'd find some way to justify my actions. Come to think of it, maybe if I tortured you, you'd stop fighting me all the time and decide to learn to love me."

"That didn't work for Russia, and it won't work for you."

"I don't know," she said, "you're a lot more fragile right now than Toris was back then. Maybe it _would_ work."

He almost hoped she_ would_ torture him, if it would distract her from the others, but then, he knew she wouldn't do it, and so was not surprised when she shook her head.

"Fine, Raivis, I'll tell you, since you're so desperate to know. But if it makes you cry, I'm never telling you anything again, got it?"

"Yes. I understand." _I don't think I have the energy to cry anymore. I don't think there are any tears left within me, just…just emptiness where the tears should be. Some sadness is too great for tears to relieve its agony._

"Switzerland is dead, though I'm not telling you what I did to him, since it's violent and you'd probably have nightmares. As for the reasons I killed him…hmmm… Well, first off, he kept attacking me and my soldiers and he might've killed someone eventually. Second, he was getting in the way of my plans. Thirdly, he ignored me just like everyone else, so there, that's why I killed him."

"Panem, everyone ignored you. You just said it right then. So…do you really hate the fact that they ignored you…or are you just using that as an excuse to commit murder, because you know you really don't have much grounds to kill them for something everyone did?"

"Are you just desperate to think of me as more human than I am?" she snapped. "Raivis, you of all people _know_ I'm not lying! Stop trying to humanize evil people who don't care to be humanized. It's annoying."

"I know you're talking about yourself when you say that, Perri…but I _have_ known people like you who wanted to be thought of as human, despite what they did. So if it's all right, I'll continue to speculate on your character, and I'll continue to think of you as human."

She sighed, shaking her head, a small smile still on her lips. "You know that way of thinking is the reason you're in this situation, don't you?"

"I'd rather continue to think this way - to remember that everyone, even those with broken minds, are human beings at their core - than to think of everyone as my enemy, as you do."

"If you can do that, Raivis, I admire you. But answer me this - can you _forgive_ me for this?"

"It's not your fault that you're like this, Perri, so yes, I can forgive you."

"Then can you forgive Russia? You know that if he hadn't done what he did to you, to Toris, to Eduard, things probably wouldn't be this way."

_She's right about that much. If Russia hadn't driven Toris to the edge of insanity…there might have been some hope. Toris might have noticed what the rest of us failed to - that Alfred was neglecting Perri, that she was going insane - and he might have stopped it. If it weren't for Russia, we might not be here now._

"You're hesitating." Panem smirked.

"I don't hate him, but I am aware that if he hadn't done what he did, _you_ might not be this way, Perri. And I'm deeply sorry for that."

She reached down and ruffled his hair.

"Silly Raivis. What're you always thinking of others for? Why can't you be like me?"

_Because…regardless of my feelings for you, I'd rather die than become like you, Perri._

* * *

It hit her as she was walking back to her room that maybe, just maybe, Latvia wasn't so different from her after all. _I mean, he is, but maybe not _too_ different…_

Just to be sure, though, she sent for Bailey, who came to her room ten minutes later, looking more than a little bit nervous.

"I'm not going to murder you, if that's what you're afraid of," she told him. "I only do that to the nations."

"Y-yes, I know, I…"

"I just want to talk to you is all," she said. "See, I've got…well, you know Raivis, you _know_ I have a problem."

"He doesn't seem like much of a problem," Bailey said, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. "He just seems…kinda scared and lost. Like a little kid without his mom, you know?"

"I suppose," Panem said absently. _How would I know, Bailey? I certainly never had a mom._

"Would you like some tea?" she asked. Bailey was rather cute, she supposed; nothing like Latvia, of course, but he was polite enough, and if he was afraid of her, at least he didn't question her at every turn.

"Uh…uh…no thank you?"

"Fine, then." She folded her hands in her lap, reminding herself that Bailey was young and that, apparently, humans told their children not accept food - or drinks - from strangers, and anyway, stranger or not, he was probably scared of being poisoned.

"I'd like to ask you a question, Bailey, and I'd like you to answer me as best you can. Do you think that someone like you - someone who isn't very brave and who doesn't hold much malice toward anyone - would be satisfied or appalled at having to watch someone who had hurt them before be tortured?"

"Uh…well… I don't really know, actually."

"How did you feel when I killed Switzerland, then? You must be able to tell me that, at least."

"It wasn't like, like I really hated him." Bailey scuffed his shoes against the carpet again. "But, I mean…I was mostly annoyed with myself, honestly, for not being able to fight somebody like that and win."

"He caught you off guard. It's happened to all of us. But how did you feel when you saw him die?"

"Relieved, I guess, and maybe…maybe a little happy?"

"You can admit that you were afraid of him, you know."

"Honestly, Jones, I'm scared of pretty much everybody."

She smiled. "Thank you, Bailey. You can go."

He left, stumbling over his own feet, and when he had gone, Panem leaned back in her chair, gazing out the window, and smiling almost unconsciously.

_Raivis has brought this on himself. And if he doesn't like it, well…he knows exactly what he has to do to stop me. _

* * *

Italy had started to wonder if dreams were supposed to be so long. Maybe they weren't. Maybe he was imagining all this; maybe he was trapped inside a story. In any case, there had to be a way to get out of here. He had to believe that.

It was hard to believe, though, when he'd just seen another nation torn to bits on film, when he knew that, dream or not, any one of them could be next, and he was beginning to get a sinking feeling that this wasn't like most dreams, that one wouldn't wake up just before they died, but after.

"Are you cold, little Feliciano?"

Russia sat down next to him, and Italy suddenly felt very small.

"N-no, not really. I'm okay."

"You are shaking," Russia informed him. "Are you frightened?"

"Aren't we all scared, Ivan?" America said tiredly.

"Of course," said Russia, "but Feliciano has been sitting here shaking for the past hour, so I thought someone ought to do something about it."

Lithuania's head shot up. "I…I didn't even notice…"

"It's okay," Italy whispered. "I'm okay, really. Don't worry. I'm actually doing o-okay."

"It is fine to be not okay," Russia said. "None of us are okay. We are all just waiting, for…for whatever may happen. It is quite frightening, isn't it?"

"It's pretty bad. I can't really figure out…what kind of a world this is."

"A very bad one. One that does not care for its inhabitants."

"No… That's not really what I meant. I was thinking, I can't tell if this is a dream, or my imagination, or if it might be real. I don't have any way to know, and it's a little scary. And, I also think…even if this is a dream, I might not wake up before I die, which would be pretty scary, even if I was only dreaming."

Russia's smile was sad, and Italy did not quite understand why, but he could see the sadness clearly and thought it would be better if he did not ask.

"Believe what will bring you most peace, Feliciano. But even if you die, we will be here with you, so it might not be so bad."

"B-Basch wasn't with us, and he died."

"Yes, but…I think that was an impulse of Panem's. She does not usually kill so brutally, does she? True, it is always painful, but not like _that_. I do not think such a thing is likely to happen again, at least not for some time. So I think…even if you are to die, it will not be alone. Or…in the unlikely event that you were to die alone, our thoughts would be with you nonetheless, as ours were with Switzerland today." Russia broke off, sighing, his face troubled. "I am not making much sense. I am sorry."

"No, it's okay." He wasn't sure if he felt comforted by Russia's words, but at the very least, it had reminded him that he needed to be strong and try to help the others out, as Russia was trying to help him now. "That actually helps, so thanks a lot!"

Russia smiled faintly. "I am glad. Perhaps you - and all of us - should sleep now. It has been a long day, and I at least am tired. Look, Alfred is already asleep."

America was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, and Italy thought that he was a bit too old to be all curled up like that, like a child, although he did look rather comfortable. Still, looking at the troubled expression on America's face, and imagining the nightmares the other nation must be having, he decided he would pretend to go to sleep, but wouldn't dare to actually sleep at all.

_I'm scared…of having nightmares inside of this nightmare. If I started dreaming dreams while I'm here, I might…I might decide it's not possible for this to be a dream, and that's something I don't want to find out. If that's the truth…I want to continue playing the fool, like always._

* * *

It was hard, Canada had found, to convince himself it was safe to sleep soundly, in a comfortable bed, after sleeping first in a rough cabin and then on the streets. He kept waking in the night, convinced that something bad had happened, only to look over at Romano, sleeping peacefully in the other bed, and remember that all was, in fact well.

Only tonight, instead of sleeping peacefully, Romano kept tossing and turning, whimpering uneasily as if in pain. Canada, lying in the opposite bed, wondered if he ought to wake Romano, or if, perhaps, he was already awake.

"I can tell you're awake, you know," Romano grumbled, sometime in the darkest part of the night. "Go to sleep. I'm fine."

He sounded frightened despite his gruffness, or, if not quite outright frightened, on edge, as if he was anxious about something.

"There's something wrong, though, isn't there?" Canada asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm not."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sounds of Romano readjusting his body restlessly.

"Since you and your brother aren't personifications of the same country, you wouldn't understand this," Romano said suddenly, "but sometimes I can tell how Feliciano is feeling. That's why…even though I don't know about anything else right now, I know he's alive somewhere. Antonio may be dead - everyone else may be dead - but Feliciano is alive somewhere."

"So…so it's like telepathy?" He had no reason to disbelieve Romano; with his own penchant for going mysteriously unseen having haunted him most of his life, he was far more inclined to believe Romano than to disbelieve him. "I didn't know anyone else had…side effects."

"Yours is turning invisible, or something, right?"

"I'm not sure I turn invisible. I think I just…go unnoticed somehow. It's not like I become physically transparent or anything."

"Huh."

"It doesn't bother me much," Canada said hurriedly. "I'm used to it."

"Good for you."

"You're not really…used to this telepathy thing, then?"

"It's not something I can get used to." Romano sighed. "Are you planning to sleep tonight or not?"

"I haven't been sleeping well since…since the explosion." It was only the barest hint of a lie; true, his insomnia had gotten worse since they'd come to stay with Romano, but he wouldn't tell him that. "I get worried something's going to happen, so…you can talk to me if you want. It might help."

There was a long silence, and then, Romano began talking again, quietly, readjusting his position again as he did.

"I know what my brother feels, but not why. And let me make it clear - I'm not telling you this because I want your pity. If…if you pity me, I'll punch you, or something. But…if something really awful happens to Feli, I'm not sure how it will affect me, so I want you to be aware of this just in case I suddenly snap…or something. But don't you dare pity me."

"I'm not pitying you," Canada assured him. _Although that sounds like something no one - no matter who they are - should have to live with._

"Right at the moment, Feli can't sleep," Romano said. "He's…I guess he's anxious about something. Probably scared too. I'm not sure, but I think he was captured by Panem a while back. He's been a lot more on edge since then, and it's been affecting me too."

"I'm sorry."

There was another, quieter rustling of the blankets, almost as if Romano had shrugged in answer to Canada's apology.

"It's always been like this. I just wish it didn't bother me so much when I've got other things to deal with."

"Do you think if you were calmer, it might calm him down? I mean, does it work two ways?"

"I think it does. We don't talk about it much."

"Then what would make you feel calmer?"

"Look, just get some sleep, why don't you?" If he hadn't already picked up on how quickly Romano resorted to cold anger to stop anyone from trying to help him, he probably would have shut up then, but he thought Romano might actually need help, and so he kept talking.

"I'm not going to go to sleep until I think you're okay, so if there's something that will help you, please tell me."

There was a long, reluctant pause.

"I really don't mind," Canada said. "It would make me feel better if I knew you were calmer, and I'm sure it would help Feliciano out too."

"Antonio used to sit with me until I fell asleep, but there's no way in hell I'm letting you do that." The finality in Romano's voice shut Canada up for good. Apparently, neither of them was getting any sleep tonight.

"All right. If you want me to leave you alone, I will."

Canada rolled over to face the wall, and for the rest of the night, he listened to Romano tossing and turning, unable to let himself rest. But when Romano finally quieted, sometime close to dawn, Canada, exhausted from the night's watching, allowed himself to sleep.


	55. Torture for My Sins

**Well, as always, I return with the latest installment of _Written in Blood. _Yeah, you knew that already. xD **

**Um...news? Is there any news? Well, I start school on Monday, which shouldn't affect the update schedule, but who knows? It might actually help; I tend to write more when I'm pressed for time. So, anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and thank you for your support! **

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Five: Torture for My Sins

Perhaps this strange sense of foreboding was a writer's curse; perhaps others did not wake some mornings only to curl up tighter beneath their blankets, praying desperately for sleep to return to them, praying that when they woke again this sense of impending doom would be gone.

But that was how Latvia woke on this morning, and as light streamed through the bars of his window, beckoning a poem from any artist who would take notice, he shrank from it, searching for a sleep that would not come, lying in bed with his hands clasped over his ears, as if that could banish his feelings of foreboding.

He did not hear Panem's approach, what with his hands clamped over his ears to ward off demons of panic and pain, and when she touched him he screamed, remembering nights in Russia's house where cold hands came out of nowhere, terrifying him, hurting him.

And then, like Russia's hands never had, this hand - small and feminine and in fact nothing at all like Russia's hand - jerked away.

He waited, shaking, sure that the hand would return and hurt him, and then he remembered where he was, remembered he would not be hurt, and cautiously, hesitantly, he removed his hands from his ears and pulled the blanket down so that he could see the person who had touched him.

"What's wrong with you?" Panem stared down at him, looking almost worried. "What were you screaming about?"

"I…I don't know," he whispered. "I just…I got scared for some reason. I don't know why, Perri, but I've got this awful feeling…like someone might come out of the wall and hit me in a minute. But, but if I stay under my blankets, all curled up, with my ears blocked…I won't hear the bad thing, I won't see it, it won't come for me…"

"You can say the bad thing's name, you know._ Ivan_. Say it, Raivis."

"No. I'm not going to. Ivan is not a bad thing anymore."

"And yet he still scares you?"

It was not Russia who scared him; no, it was this nameless anxiety that had entered his soul, permeating his very being. It frightened him, not knowing where it had come from. He thought, in fact, that it might be the first sign of his own personal insanity.

"Raivis, you know I love you, right?"

"I know…I know that you have an obsession with me and that you speak of that obsession as your 'love' for me, Perri. That is all I know, and all I can know."

"But you know I would never hurt you? That I'd never want to hurt you?"

_If you didn't want to hurt me, you'd understand that some of us have feelings, and you wouldn't hurt my friends the way you do, _he did not say, and could never say again, for he was beginning to give up arguing with her, understanding now that she would never come around to his way of thinking. With this crippling anxiety - or perhaps as a herald of it - had come this depression, this slow loss of all hope. Or perhaps that had been coming all along.

"Wouldn't it be nice if everything that had ever hurt you was gone, if you knew those things could never hurt you again?"

"Too many things have hurt me, Perri. The only way you could erase that would be to erase my memories entirely."

"Then let me erase your fear." Her hands were so _cold_, and yet familiar by now, and although he was scared and wanted to pull away, he let her caress him, let her hands ruffle his hair and stroke his skin. "Or at least, let me try. I may not be able to do anything about the pain…but if there's nothing left for you to be scared of, surely you'll be happier.

"What are you planning, Perri?" he whispered. The anxiety welled up in his throat, threatening to choke him, and it was all he could do not to scream, to cry, to beg her to stop, although he no longer possessed the energy to do so. "Why must you refuse to stop this?"

"Because there is no suffering great enough to satisfy my thirst for it," she replied. "Get dressed, Raivis. You say you want to be afraid of nothing. Let me ease your fear. I might not do it the way you want me to - in fact, I know I won't, and I know you'll judge me for it - but I will do it in the only way I can."

"Perri, _please_." He sat up, looking her in the eyes, begging openly now. "Don't you love me? Perri? Don't you want what's best for me?"

"I wish you'd stop calling me Perri," she said.

"It's your _name_."

"Yes, indeed, Raivis. But you don't think of me when you say it, do you? You don't think of me as I am now. No, when you say the name Perri, you're thinking of that little girl, the one with the calico dresses and the braids."

_Don't deny me this, it's the only fantasy I have, please…_

"She's dead, Raivis." Panem bent, cupping his chin in her hands, her green eyes dull and empty, and yet, somehow consumed with both sorrow and a slow, smoldering rage. "And if it will give you comfort, say that I killed her. But do not call me Perri if you are saying it with the image of that child reflecting in your eyes."

"You didn't kill her. I did. Or, or, at least, I let her die."

"That makes no difference now. If you are going to call me by my human name, say it without imagining her in my place. I am Perri Jones, personification of Panem. I'm no longer that weak little girl, and it would please me greatly if you'd realize that."

"Then, Perri…" He kept his voice cold, so incredibly cold, and instead of imagining the little girl, laughing, he imagined Panem as she was now, imagined her torturing that little girl until she broke and died. "Please, set about destroying me. That's all you can do, now. There's nothing…that can make me happy."

_You killed her. You know…you know how much I loved her, the past you, and you…you killed her. She can't be resurrected now. You've made it so; you've told me, with dreadful finality, that you will never change. You'll never be that girl again. So I will never be happy again._

"You think I don't know that, Raivis?"

"There are times when I wonder."

"I know you can't be happy, sweetie." She was so close, now, her face inches from his own, and he tensed, wondering what she would do if he shoved her away. "I know you're different from me - that's probably why I always liked you so much. You're not nearly so fallen from grace as I am. You're like an angel with sunlit hair and glowing eyes, do you know that?"

_That's not your line. It's Eduard's. Give it back to him - give him back to me!_

"There's no scenario where we both get what we want, Raivis. In the end…either you or I will have to give in to the other. And I'm not giving in to you, sweetie, no matter how much I care about you. I've come too far - and achieved too much - to stop short of total happiness."

"Then…really…you're just selfish."

"Of course." There was no remorse in her eyes. "But there is room beyond my selfishness to love you, and if I'm not able to love you perfectly, well…maybe you should just accept what you can get."

_But how can I accept you when you have burned everything I loved, and now prepare to throw me onto the fire as well? How can I still endure this love of yours, when it is such a scorching, twisted love? Please free me. I loved you too much, I know that, but please…why must I endure this at your hands?_

* * *

She came a few hours after their daily meal, around the same time she usually came to torture Lithuania, and none of them dared to challenge her. If they'd even entertained the idea of resistance before, it had now been driven completely from their minds by Switzerland's brutal death.

And so even Russia, who had once pretended to fear nothing and had held power over so many, sat silent, watching Lithuania, and waiting. And as Lithuania stood, he felt dread well up within him, and yet, still he dared not move.

"Not you, Toris," Panem said, and the wicked smile, already hovering on her face, widened as she saw Lithuania stop dead in shock and uncertainty.

"I'll be needing Ivan today," Panem continued, and it took him a moment to realize what she'd said. And even when it hit him, it was not because her words had started to sink in, but because everyone else had turned to stare at him in terror.

"Me?" he asked.

"Yes, you," Panem agreed. "Now, if you don't mind hurrying up, I do have things to do."

He stood, and unlike with Lithuania, there was no chorus of encouragement or fearful pleas. _Because of course, they know Toris is indispensable, but they can and would be rid of me if they could. I have caused nothing but harm. Let me be tortured. It is what I deserve._

"I don't…I don't understand," Lithuania murmured, bringing his hands up, covering his face. Russia, close to him now, clasped his wrists and pulled Lithuania's hands back, down to his sides, and held them there.

"You are not to worry, you are not to be disproportionately upset, and most of all you are _not allowed to trade yourself for me_, even if the opportunity were to arise. Understand?"

"But-"

"Toris..." His tone was harsher than he'd meant, but it had the desired effect, and he was grateful for that if nothing else.

Lithuania looked down, biting his lip. "Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good boy. Good Toris. Stay there and be calm." He glanced at America, just barely making eye contact with the young nation. "Alfred, I leave Toris in your hands and in Natasha's."

"Okay." America's voice was very quiet. "Sorry, Ivan."

He didn't take the time to try and decipher what America meant by that apology, for there was no time for that and he did not want to worry about it, no matter what became of him. So he let Lithuania go and turned and walked to the door, shouldering past Panem and out into the hallway before she had the chance to stop him.

"It is surprising that you do not wish to torture me in front of them," he commented. "Although I suppose they do not care about me very much."

"I don't suppose they do," Panem agreed. "Except Toris, but he cares about everyone, as I'm sure you know. And anyway, if I wanted to torture them by hurting you, I'd just rig up a camera and send the feed to the cell. But I'm not going to do that. My purpose in this has nothing to do with them."

He turned, stopping in the middle of the hallway to look at her, realizing that she seemed almost nervous, as if on edge.

"What, then?"

She smiled. "As if I would tell you. You'll see soon enough, Ivan, so be patient. There's no fun in spoiling the secret."

So he followed her in silence and foreboding, hoping that, whatever lay ahead of him, it would not be too horrible, and yet wishing simultaneously that it would be.

_I don't…I don't want to get hurt…but, if it can atone for what I've done, and if it can help the others…let it be so._

* * *

The waiting was torture in itself, and Latvia had no doubt that Panem, wherever she had gone, knew that very well. She knew, too, of the nervous energy that lurked inside of him, knew that he was growing to depend on her, if not to calm him, than to distract him, and still she left him alone to wait for whatever horrid thing she was going to do.

If she knew it was going to hurt him, she must truly be growing desperately, must really be ceasing to care whether he remained sane or not. He knew that, he knew, and when she came back he looked at her with the haunted eyes of a child - he could see his reflection, faintly, in the glass of the room in which she had left him, although there was darkness on the other side of that glass, and if there was anything in that darkness, he could not see it.

"Please, Perri. Please don't, whatever it is, please don't, torture me, take whatever you want from me, but don't hurt anyone else, _I can't do this anymore_…"

"Too bad," she said. "Look, Raivis, you had your chance to love me the easy way, and whatever happens from here is your own fault for being stubborn, understand? I'm _going_ to be happy, whether or not you are. I deserve to be happy, after everything."

_What about me? Why don't I get to be happy? Don't…don't you remember what I told you? I know you know; I know I told you about the abuse. How come you get to be happy when I don't? How is that fair?_

He must have made a noise, or something, because Panem knelt and looked him in the eyes, her own eyes sincere, if cold and mad.

"I _told_ you, I don't want to hurt you. But I want you to love me, so we're going to switch tactics now. And if you don't like it…well…you'll love me anyway, Raivis. I can guarantee it this way. I can guarantee you'll do anything I want and you'll act like it's genuine and…that's all I want from you, so just do it after this, okay, and this won't have to happen again."

"It doesn't have to happen ever! Perri, please, please, I'll sleep with you, I'll…I'll move into your room and kiss you every time you want and always make nice conversation and write you poetry just please…"

"If I don't do this, you'll forget why you're supposed to behave," she said. "If I have to break you, I will, Raivis. It doesn't bother me to have you broken, just as long as I have you. Sorry, but this has to be done."

She did not even ruffle his hair before she left, and he watched in despair as the door closed behind her. And then there was light on the other side of the glass wall, and he could see her standing at the door of that room.

_This…this is the same room where she tortured Toris before… Please, no…_

But it was not Lithuania who knelt on the other side of the glass, watching Latvia. It was Russia, and from his pitying expression, Latvia could see that he had heard everything Panem had said. He hated being pitied by anyone, and although he hated to think it, the thought 'by Russia of all people' came into his head and would not leave.

Russia was not bound, nor restrained in any way, but he remained on his knees, despite Latvia's desperate thought that maybe, maybe, Russia could kill Panem and stop this. But even Russia was not God - even he could not end Panem permanently.

"Raivis, you look so very sad," said Russia, and, somehow, Latvia could hear him through the glass. "You should not be. You have a right to hate me, if you want to."

"But I don't. And I'm r-really sorry. I…I didn't…"

"Of course not. Still, it is okay. Although I do think it would be better if Eduard were sitting there instead of you. He would enjoy it, I think."

"Probably not. He thought he would, but…I'm not sure."

Russia nodded. "He was…he was always a strange child in that way. I am sorry for what happened to him - but you know that, don't you, Raivis?" He didn't say it like a plea, but his eyes betrayed the emotion his tone did not.

"Yeah. You don't have to say it anymore, especially not…not right now." He paused, trying to insert some strength into his voice without sounding cold. "Russia, anything that happens to you is my fault, okay, so…so if you want, let's call things even between you and me."

"Even," Russia repeated. "Yes, I think…if you are okay with it, I would like that."

"Now that we have things all sorted out," Panem said, smirking, "let's see if I can't change your decision, Ivan. I think you could be persuaded to blame Raivis for this, with time."

"You may certainly try to persuade me that he is at fault," said Russia simply, "but I have done far more to Raivis than you could do to me in a human lifetime. Of that I am very certain."

And maybe, if Estonia had been there, or even Lithuania - anyone besides Latvia, who knew now that there were places far darker than Soviet Russia, and that those places existed in the corners of his own mind - maybe that person would have affirmed Russia's words. But he - he who had escaped the brunt of the torture in Russia's house and still had not been physically touched here, and yet felt that he had been tortured by Panem more than he had ever been by Russia - he lowered his head and could not reply.

_If I told her she'd hurt me more than Russia did, more than he ever could…what would she do to Russia? What would she do to me?_

Not that he should have thought about himself, not now. He knew she would never strike him, although of course, her words had cut and mangled him far more than physical torture could.

And suddenly he realized that he had understood why Estonia had been so affected when Russia told him he was worthless.

_Words cut deeper than knives. Excuses can be made for torture, but there is no taking back your words, nor can anyone go back into the past and add in the words they should have said, but didn't. So this - this existence of never being tortured except by Panem's words - this is my punishment for not telling her I loved her, for not telling her I cared for her before it was too late._

* * *

She had not bound him because she'd assumed - rightly so - that he'd rather be killed than ever harm someone again. No matter the cruelty of the person, no matter her insanity - he would not harm Panem as he had harmed Estonia. He would not punish her for insanity so close to his own, even if hers was far more malicious, far crueler. Even if she knew exactly what she was doing to him and to everyone else, he would not harm her.

This, he had promised himself even before she had told him she was leaving him unbound. He had to hold on to the promise, though, as he sat in the dark and saw, on the other side of the glass wall, little Latvia pleading desperately with Panem, and Panem ignoring him completely.

_I have no right to punish her for that, either. It is exactly what I did to Toris._

He wanted Latvia, on the other side of the glass, to allow himself to cry, because Latvia's strength, somehow, made everything _worse_. Believing he deserved to be beaten was one thing, but seeing that little boy - whose breaking he was in part responsible for - sitting so broken on the other side of the glass, and yet unable to cry, was such a different thing, and he did not like it. He did not like this broken, depressed, tearless Latvia. The agony in his eyes never diminished, because he shed no tears, but perhaps, perhaps there was another way to ease his pain, if he could no longer cry.

_But the only way…would be to end Panem, which I cannot do, and even if I could, that would also make Raivis hurt inside, because he loves her. I know he loves her. He looks at her with such sad and hopeful eyes, like Toris used to look at Natalya. He is just like Toris with Natalya, only it is worse, because Panem cannot love him. She will not, she cannot, she never will. It is too sad for words._

He had thought that by paying attention to Latvia, he would be able to ignore Panem, but then, it was hard to ignore her when she held a whip in her hand, when she seemed intent on breaking him.

He was, he had decided, definitely not going to scream. (He wondered if Lithuania had ever made the same decision in the past, and immediately felt quite guilty for thinking it.)

There was a hissing noise and the whip cracked across his shoulders, and all he could do was gasp and hug his arms across his chest, because as long as his arms weren't too badly hurt and Panem gave his shirt back, he could tell Lithuania and the others that nothing terribly bad had happened. And really, really, would Lithuania even think this was so bad? Lithuania, who had been tortured this way a thousand times?

_Tortured by you, and now you know, if you had forgotten before, how much this hurts. You know what you did to him - you knew even then, but now… This hurts, very much. This is what you did to Toris and to the rest of them. All those years, this is what you did. Is there any reason left to wonder why, then, they could not recover? You hurt them. You hurt them just like this. _

And yet, in spite of that, on the other side of the glass, Latvia still begged, not for the ending of his own pain, but for the end of Russia's.

_He is like Toris in that way, so compassionate that he wishes for everyone to be safe, even those who have hurt him. I would…I would rather be like Toris and Raivis than like myself. "I" am a monster who lashes out and kills people if I am not very careful. "They" are like angels, or…or…what can they be but angels? Didn't one of them say something about that once, about Eduard thinking he was a demon, that they were angels? I'm not so sure…that Eduard and I were demons, but I think Toris and Raivis are angels._

It wasn't until Panem had stopped whipping him that he realized that he was still wearing his scarf.

_There's been…a lot of blood on this scarf, before…but I'm not really sure if it was ever _my_ blood until today._

* * *

America could tell Russia was hurt, even if the others couldn't. It wasn't just the look on Russia's face, the almost uncharacteristically bright smile that seemed to be trying way too hard to hide his pain. No, it was the way he carried himself: stiffly, as if everything hurt and he did not know how to make it stop hurting.

"I am fine," he said, before Lithuania could even open his mouth to ask. "I am not very much hurt, so do not worry about it or apologize, Toris. It is nothing I cannot handle."

And then Russia - Russia, who had comforted Italy when he was scared, who had tried to reason with Lithuania, who had seen a bright side when no one else could - Russia went and sat in the corner and buried his head in his large hands.

"I'm fine," he said, loudly and clearly so that all of them could hear. "It does not even hurt. I am perfectly fine do not pity me _Toris I can hear you pitying me._ I just…I need one moment, please?"

"What happened?" Lithuania sounded strangely desperate, "Please tell me what happened, Ivan, I can fix it…"

"I do not need you to fix it. I am fixing it. It is fine, it is fine, I _am fine_."

"Toris, I'll talk to him," America hissed in Lithuania's ear. "He's more likely to let me than you."

"Please do," Lithuania said, and he looked so very tired and sad that America wanted to tell him to go to sleep right then, and to never wake up until he was no longer sad, although they all knew that sleep could not cure Lithuania's pain. "He won't let me help him anymore. He thinks, he thinks he _hurts_ me when he lets me help."

"Well," said America, "that's where he's wrong, but…we've all got our wrong beliefs, right? I'll make sure he's okay, so don't worry."

He stood up, leaving Lithuania with Belarus and Italy - who surely, if nothing else, could keep him from worrying too much over Russia's safety - and went to Russia, who still had his head in his hands. Apparently whatever had happened required a little more than a moment to get over.

"Hey, Ivan, you know Toris is more worried about you when you won't let him help than when you do, right?" he asked, sitting down next to Russia, who did not even lift his head to glare at him.

"Tell him not to worry, then," said Russia, his voice muffled by his hands. "I am actually doing quite well."

"Your arm is bleeding," America informed him in a whisper. "Toris isn't _blind_, you know."

"He does not need to worry, and neither do you. Go away, Alfred."

"Will you at least explain why she tortured you _now_, when you've been here for weeks before and she never did?"

"No. I would much rather not discuss it, thank you, Alfred."

America sighed. "Ivan Braginsky, you act like a little kid sometimes."

"And you do not? I really am fine, Alfred."

"Okay, well, that's great and all, but personally, I'm not convinced. Can't I at least, I don't know, help you stop the bleeding or something?"

"It was only a whip and I will be _fine_," said Russia, with such finality that America finally gave in and left him alone with his thoughts.

"Well, we know she whipped him, anyway," he muttered as he rejoined the others, "but he's pretty determined not to tell us anything else."

"I wish he'd say _something_ else," Lithuania fretted. "I wish he'd at least…"

"I think," whispered Belarus in America's ear, "that Ivan feels guilty that this did not happen to him sooner and he is determined to bear it alone."

"Why?" America asked. "I mean, I guess that makes sense, sort of, but why?"

Belarus leaned close to him, her long, silver-blond hair falling in her face.

"He still loves Toris," she whispered. "No, Alfred, stop, do not tell Toris, he doesn't know and it will confuse him even _more_. But, but look, I am not blind either. Ivan has loved him since…since forever, and if he cannot take back what he did to him he can at least bear torture as Toris did back then."

"So…" America followed Belarus's gaze back to the corner, where Russia still sat. "So even _he_ wants to be like Toris?"

"Why does anyone want to be like me?" Lithuania, apparently, had been listening more intently to the last part of their conversation than America had realized. "I still don't understand that. I'm _not_…"

"You're stupidly brave and stubborn and you care way too much about people and you always try your best to save them, so you're practically a fictional character, okay?" said America. "You know people always want to be like their favorite fictional characters."

"That makes no sense," Belarus informed him. "Lithuania is right here. He is not fictional."

"So," said Lithuania quietly, "does that mean you know I'm not a ghost?"

"The ghost thing was Alfred's fault," said Belarus. "He said you were a ghost."

"I did what?"

Belarus shook her head. "Do not worry about it. It is over now, and Toris is here and not a ghost, and I think I am saner now than I was, so that is good."

"Yeah," said America, and he wanted to be happy for Belarus, who really had calmed down visibly when one remembered the screaming, sobbing young woman who had begged and pleaded to be forgiven by someone whom they had all believed dead.

_She really has…she really has gotten better, despite everything around her getting worse._

But then he looked at Italy, sitting wide-eyed and silent, trying and failing to process anything, at Russia, sitting in the corner with his head in his hands, at Lithuania, shaking and pale with exhaustion, and somehow even Belarus's recovery could not seem to lift his spirits.

_Whether or not Nat's better, the fact remains…everyone else is getting worse. _


	56. Remember

Chapter Fifty-Six: Remember

"Raivis Galante, you had better get out of that bed _right now_, or I'll feed all your friends to the mutts."

He had not the slightest idea what a 'mutt' might be, but it sounded rather horrid, and if he hadn't known she was going to kill his friends no matter what he did, he might have been moved to do _something_ by that statement.

"Aren't you going to do that anyway?"

"Do you really want your friends to get eaten alive by mutated wolves, Raivis?"

"No, but you're going to kill them anyway. As a matter of fact, Panem, why don't you kill _me_? I'd let you. Go ahead. Make it as painful as you want. I w-won't scream or…"

"You're stuttering, and you know I won't do it."

"You're a horrible person and I hate you, and no, I don't have any faith that you won't do it. I don't have faith in anything anymore."

"I hate you!" Panem snapped, and he jumped in spite of himself and peeked out from under the blankets, to see her standing with her hands on her hips above him. She grinned. "If you're going to pretend you hate me, at least adjust your tone of voice. Nobody says 'I hate you' in a monotone."

"Well, according to you, I'm not just anybody. Maybe _I_ say it in a monotone."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, and he burrowed back under the covers, away from her.

"Raivis, you're acting like a child. What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid. Not, not for myself, anyway. I'm afraid of you torturing Russia again, and I'm afraid for Toris and Natalya and Feliciano and Alfred and whoever else you've captured by now…"

"There's no one else. Just those five."

"Then, there, that's why I'm afraid of you. Because I know you're going to kill them, and Panem, I _know_ you don't understand friendship, and I know that's my fault, but…but they're my friends. I care about them, so I don't want them to die."

"You're just quickening their deaths with your actions, and I know you know that. If you really wanted to save them, you'd come out from there and at least try to pretend I've won you over."

"Panem…Perri, please. I can't do this anymore."

She had to know - unless she was less obsessive than he'd thought - that he'd barely moved from his bed in two days.

"Good. I'm glad. Maybe you'll finally break."

"It's not going to be like you think," he said, and he left it at that, left her to try and figure it out on her own. She didn't, of course, because she was proud, selfish Panem, and she would not understand the things he had been thinking about for the past two days. _Although, of course, I'd been thinking about it all along. That's one of the benefits of having Toris for a brother - you always, always remember that there are people who try and kill themselves when there's no more hope. _

"It will be whatever I want it to be," she told him, as she pulled the blankets off his bed so that he had no place to hide anymore. "I'm going to get what I want, no matter what."

_You're probably right. Because I…I have no means by which to kill myself, and now…I think that might be the only thing I can do to prevent you from hurting the others because of me._

He didn't have the energy anymore to argue with her, to remind her that there were things he wanted, too, things he could never have because of her and what she'd done.

_This is the kind of world…where even people who might have loved each other…can never be happy. This kind of world, where people are always getting hurt, and there's no relief…this kind of world isn't the one I wanted to live in. I thought, I thought after we got away from Russia, it would be different, but…now it's worse. We were lucky for a while, but…nobody's luck lasts for long. I'm not at peace with that. I want this to be a world where everyone is happy, but...but I can't make it that way._

"Raivis, are you crying?"

He was always crying, on the inside if not on the outside, but although his body shook with silent sobs, no tears would come, and Panem stroked invisible tears off his face in vain.

"What's the matter with you, Raivis?"

_You're killing me. I can't breathe. My chest hurts. I can't write. You killed Eddy. You're killing Toris and Alfred and everyone else. I feel like I'm dying too. Help me, Perri. Help. In books, the star-crossed lovers save each other._

But she didn't hear him, of course, because she was just selfish, proud, beautiful, twisted Panem, and he'd been wrong to imagine a world where she would ever notice there was something wrong with him. She wasn't capable of that, and he'd always known that, but somehow the confirmation of what he'd always known made nothing better.

Knowing the truth and accepting it were two very different things. And right now, he wanted to forget every truth he knew.

_Truth: Perri is insane and nothing can change that. Truth: I am not insane yet, but I _am_ depressed. Truth: Perri is going to keep torturing Ivan until I agree to pretend to love her. Truth: I don't have the energy to do that. Truth: Perri is going to murder everyone I love. Truth: I belong to Perri._

She stroked his hair and told him how much she loved him, and yet she couldn't see how she'd broken him, how he'd fallen apart and could no longer even pretend to pick up the pieces, even if it would stop her from torturing Russia.

_Truth: There's no way any of us are going to walk out of this alive._

There was no reason he should have to stay alive and watch his friends die, no reason he should add to their suffering with his refusal to let Panem have her way with him. There was also no reason to pretend, not now, not even to save his friends. He knew he _had_ loved Panem, he knew he had once cared enough about the others to sacrifice his living soul for them, and in a way he still did, and yet, he was too tired to care what happened to any of them now, beyond wishing that everything would stop.

_Truth: I think I'm going to commit suicide._

* * *

He didn't dare wait until she called him, not with what had happened last time, not when he still remembered the sight of Switzerland being torn into pieces. Lithuania stumbled to his feet when the door opened, stumbled forward with only a shadow of the bravery everyone claimed he'd once possessed, to where Panem stood, waiting.

"You're learning obedience, I see," she said. "Good boy. Now, keep on being a good boy and put these on, will you?"

She held out handcuffs, and he remembered cold winds howling outside, remembered handcuffs and his hands forced onto the table and the knife in Russia's hand, but she forced the handcuffs over his wrists and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

She kicked him to his knees, then, but instead of continuing to beat him, as he'd thought she would, she dropped to her knees in front of him, smiling.

"Now, Toris, I'm going to go easy on you today. I doubt this will hurt you very much, since you used to do it to yourself all the time."

She held out a knife, not very different from the one he'd used to harm himself, back before all this had happened. But unlike then, the sight of the knife filled him not with hope and a strange calmness, but only with the thought of impending agony.

"Why does no one stop her?" said Russia, somewhere far away, and Lithuania knew he was not begging for any nation to fight Panem, but for someone - either human or God - to somehow end their torment forever.

God did not love the nations, but had abandoned them to torture and agony since the world was created, or so Lithuania had no choice but to believe. And once, once upon a time he had pretended to be Catholic, and still had held on to his pagan rituals in secret. Once, long ago, he had believed in gods, or a God, no matter their mercy or terror, and he believed there might be gods in heaven still, but that they surely could not love humanity. If whatever being had created this world loved humanity, it would not have condemned them to suffering.

Panem's hands, unlike his own, never shook, never wavered, and the knife sliced into his arm neatly, with no hint of the raggedness of his own scars. At least, at least these scars would be fluid and beautiful. But then, he didn't really think of his self-inflicted scars as beautiful, only necessary, only a part of him that could never heal nor be taken away.

"Stop," he whispered, his voice shaking, cracking with pain. "Please, don't."

"Why shouldn't I?" she challenged. "Isn't this what you do to yourself? Isn't this your one selfish indulgence? I thought you missed it."

"No…it's not, it's not like that…"

He didn't need to hurt himself when he was already in such constant physical pain, and it was so different, so panic-inducing to be at the mercy of someone else's knife. But he did not have the words to explain it to her, nor was he foolish enough to think she would listen to him.

"Please, this…this hurts," he whispered. He could see the blood dripping from his arm - long, jagged cuts already crisscrossing his wrists, and this wasn't what he wanted, not at all. He'd never wanted to be tortured like this, by someone else. This was his method of self-inflicted torment, his hope for personal salvation, and to have Panem do this to him left him helpless, pleading for her to stop.

"Please, please don't."

She dug the knife into his arm, twisting the blade so that it cut more jaggedly and more deeply. He sobbed, trying to bring his other hand over to shield his arm, but with the handcuffs securing him and Panem holding onto his wrist, there was nothing he could do.

There was so much blood, so much blood dripping down his arm, over his wrist and down to the tips of his fingers.

And he remembered, he remembered.

"Stop! Stop! Let go of me!" He tried to wrench his hand away from Panem, panicked, but she held on tighter, and the knife slashed across his arm again as he struggled, trying to pull away.

"What are you so afraid of?" Panem asked.

He was afraid that he would never be able to touch a knife again, that now that she had done this to him he would forever remain haunted by this memory, even if he were to somehow escape and find that he needed to harm himself again. He was afraid of losing the only coping mechanism he knew, although, in a way, he had already lost it. He was afraid of the pain of torture, and he was more afraid of what torture would do to his friends.

But most of all he feared the memory of a knife in Russia's hand, his own hands cuffed and helpless on the table. Most of all he feared that Panem knew what had happened on that day, and most of all he feared that she would cut his fingers away as Russia had then.

If he lost his fingers now, he would not get them back, and what was Lithuania without broken hands to hold out in surrender, in silent plea, in sacrifice?

What was Lithuania when he was rendered powerless to save others? And what was Lithuania, broken, alone, and helpless?

But he was not alone, not really; the others were there, he could see them - he could see Russia and America and Italy, staring, horrified, Russia's eyes glassy as if he, too, was remembering that cold winter's day.

And then, and then, there was Belarus - Natalya, his Natalya - crying. And on that day he had cried for her; on that day, she had not come.

_"You would be calling for my sister. She will not come. She cannot hear you. Now, little Toris… Now you are like me, da? You are alone."_

And even now, despite seeing all of them there, only a feet away from him; even with Russia on his side, even with Belarus close enough to comfort him when this was over, he truly was alone.

And in an instant, as Panem sliced into his other arm and the blood began to fountain forth, he remembered that it was after Russia had tried to cut off his fingers, after Russia had told him he was alone, that he had first tried to commit suicide.

* * *

Lithuania was screaming, screaming and screaming and pleading with Panem to stop, and none of them could do anything to help him, none of them could do anything except sit powerlessly and knew that if they interfered with his torture, they'd be doing nothing but dooming him to further torture.

They'd already doomed him, really, all of them together - except Italy, even Belarus knew enough to realize that Italy had had no part in Lithuania's fall from sanity. Italy had not been there. And it was not that she could blame Russia, who had, in fact, started the process of driving Lithuania insane, or America, whose selfishness had led them to this place.

But she_ could_ blame herself, and she would do so forevermore. For they all knew - and if they did not know they must at least suspect - that Lithuania would have recovered if she had not hurt him, if she had not killed him, if she had not rejected him, broken him, left him alone. And perhaps Russia and America had helped to bring Lithuania to this point, but she was the one to blame. She _must be_ the one to blame.

"Natasha?" Russia was next to her, large hands raised as if to restrain her, or perhaps to shield her. "Natasha, what are you doing?"

She was standing, she realized, standing with her hand in the pocket of her pants as if searching for something - for her knife, she thought, yes, she was looking for her knife. If she could find her knife, she could defend Lithuania…

But no. No, that couldn't right. She hadn't saved Lithuania with her knife; she'd stabbed him with it. She'd ruined him. And now Panem was ruining what was left of him, shattering every last piece of him until nothing - not even an empty shell - remained.

"Stop!" She could scream louder than Lithuania, she knew she could. His love was quiet and steady, and even when it was fierce it was a quietly raging flame, but she was cracking ice and roaring thunder and she would be heard over him and she would save him somehow. "Stop hurting him! Leave him alone! He's done nothing, nothing, you know he's done nothing, don't hurt him!"

"Why shouldn't I hurt him?" Panem asked. "I can do whatever I want, so why should I hold back just because he doesn't deserve this as much as you do? Or…do_ you_ want to hurt him, Natalya? Are you jealous that I'm the one cutting him up, this time?"

"Tasha." Lithuania's voice was ragged and exhausted. "Tasha, I know that's not true. I know she's lying, I know, I know, I know…"

And yes, of course he knew, because he knew her, he knew she'd never hurt him, and yet _she had_.

_"No killing… Please… I hate it when people get hurt, when they die… The only person who needs to die…is me. Because…I don't want to live…anymore."_

_And suddenly his body was so _heavy_ and he was falling, falling, and she was falling with him, crumpling on the ground, and "don't become a killer", Estonia had said, as if she had not murdered Lithuania, but where was Estonia now, what did it matter what Estonia thought of her? She had killed Lithuania, and she could never take it back._

And in the present day, Lithuania was broken, broken by knives and words sharper than knives, and some of those words were her own.

_"Belarus, w-what's wrong?"_

_And, harshly, with more coldness than she'd ever, ever felt for him, even before she'd fallen in love with him: "Be quiet."_

_And with those words she'd broken him._

"But I did hurt you, Toris, I…I stabbed you and killed you and then I left you."

"But that was…that was because you were trying to save me." He raised his head, smiling crookedly at her from beneath his hair. "Wasn't it, Tasha?"

One final slice, one last cry of agony from Lithuania, and Panem was gone, leaving Lithuania kneeling on the floor, still handcuffed, still bloodied, but alive, alive, alive. She had not killed him. He had gone under the knife and survived, this time. And he looked at Belarus with warm understanding in his eyes, but hesitance in his voice.

"I…I wasn't sure then, but now... You were always…blaming yourself for me, weren't you? That whole time that you were shouting desperately for forgiveness, you weren't just asking for it because, because you left me and you knew that it hurt me. You were asking for forgiveness because you thought you'd caused all of this. You thought…you thought you were the one who broke me, didn't you?"

"Didn't I break you? Didn't I? Wasn't it because of me?"

"Natasha," said Russia, "he tried to kill himself before you ever left him. He _succeeded_ in killing himself before you left him, once. This is not your doing."

"But, but you would have…you would have gotten better, Toris, if I hadn't left, wouldn't you? Wouldn't it have helped?"

"Maybe," he said, "but probably not. I don't think…I don't think anyone could have fixed me then, Natalya, as much as I wish they could have. Maybe it would have helped me if you'd stayed - and you, leaving, well, that _certainly _didn't save me… But…we can't know how it would have turned out if you'd stayed. I just know it's not your fault. What happened to me - what I became - is not your fault."

"It's not…it's not my fault? But how can it not be my fault?"

She crumpled to her knees, feeling as if her body had gone numb, as if the whole world had gone numb.

"It's not your fault." Lithuania, his hands still bound and bloodied, managed to drag himself over to her, looking up at her with a warmth and forgiveness she'd never hoped to see. "It's never been your fault, I promise you."

"Panem left the key to the handcuffs," America said, and his voice sounded numb and far away even as he pressed the key into Belarus' hands, giving her the tools to free Lithuania, if not from their physical prison and from his mental chains, from the cruel cuffs binding his hands. And when the handcuffs fell from his wrists, they sat looking at each other, the bloodied restraints fallen forgotten to the floor

"It's really…it's never…it's never been my fault?"

"Never. It was never your fault, Tasha, I promise."

"How do I know you're not lying? How do I know?"

"Have I ever lied?"

"You lied about what Ivan did to you."

"I evaded questioning. That was different." He smiled. "Trust me, Tasha. Trust me."

And he leaned forward, closer than he'd ever been to her, and for an instant she had this insane thought that she had to get away from him, because if she did not she would hurt him, if she did not, he would die again, and it would be horrible, and she would not be able to stand it.

But then she remembered his words - "_Never your fault, Tasha" - _and she did not pull away. And he leaned closer, closer, and there was blood all over him, staining his clothes and skin, but she reached out and clasped his bloodstained hands, and when he kissed her it was like forgiveness, the forgiveness that she had never even thought she would gain.

_"It was never your fault, Tasha."_

"I love you," Lithuania whispered, and it was then that Belarus - who was, after all, not a human but a nation, and nothing more - it was then that Belarus said goodbye to Natalya, the human with whom she had shared a body, the human who had sold her soul in order to save her beloved.

For she had not saved him, but he had granted absolution for her failure, and so Natalya Arlovskaya, who was, after all, only human, cried in the arms of her lover, finally, mercifully, forgiven.

* * *

He hadn't known that it was possible to be so happy and so sad all at once, and yet, watching Belarus with Lithuania, he felt both joy that they were finally, finally together despite all his attempts to keep them apart, and selfish sadness that Lithuania had chosen Belarus in the end.

_But then, why did I ever think he would choose me, when I hurt him so much, knowingly and intentionally? At least what Natalya did, she did to try and prevent herself from physically ruining him._

Lithuania was asleep, now, worn out by blood loss and exhaustion, and Russia had torn the sleeves from his own shirt and given them to Belarus to bandage Lithuania's arms, which were still bloodied and torn. He watched, now, in silence, as Belarus finished wrapping the strips of cloth around Lithuania's wounds, and then turned to look at the rest of them with wide, sorrowful eyes.

"She's hurting him," she said despairingly. "She's hurting him and…someone, someone has to stop it, Ivan. Someone has to. He's hurting so badly. Listen, listen, can you hear him crying now?"

And although Lithuania was asleep, and could not cry now, Russia understood what Belarus was saying. For how long had they heard Lithuania's cries, for how long had they known he was hurting, and done nothing? And whether this moment was a part of the present day, or a memory of back then, Lithuania was bleeding and hurting and losing his mind, and he must be rescued, although none of them knew how such a thing could be done.

"I can't fail him again," Belarus whispered. "So we have to save him."

"We can't do that, Natalya," said America, dead blue eyes staring numbly at Lithuania. "Nobody can. Nobody can save us. Nobody would want to even if they could. This is where the world ends, Nat, this is where the world ends. We're all gonna die here, we're all gonna die, even Toris, so if we do nothing, maybe…"

"Do not talk like that!" Russia snapped. "Do not! You will frighten Feliciano and Natasha, is that what you want?"

"But we're gonna die, Ivan." America was crying, his voice breaking as his eyes remained dead and vacant of emotion. Russia remembered America's eyes being full of light and hope and love, but now, but now it was all gone. His eyes had lost their sanity. "We're gonna die, why can't we just die now, why can't we…?"

"Because Panem will not let us," said Russia. "Because Toris is still alive, and with every death, he comes closer to losing his mind. And most of all because, Alfred, I am the only person here who could kill you, and I will not do it, and you have no means of doing it yourself."

"But…but…"

America looked so lost, so sad, like a child who had lost all hope and no longer knew where to turn. He looked, Russia thought, like he himself must have looked after the Soviet Union had fallen apart.

"You are hurting very much, aren't you?" he asked. "And you…you feel as if you have to fight all alone, yes? It is very hard, isn't it?"

"What…how…how do you…?"

"You do not have to be alone. We may be doomed, yes, but until that is certain, let us not give up. If we all go alone, what will become of us? What happened to Basch when he acted alone, Alfred? I know it is very hard, especially when you feel you are to blame, but…do not give up. Try to keep going until the end, and we will help you, or, at least, we will try."

"But, but…but what's the point?"

"I am not sure there is a point," Russia admitted. "Perhaps this is just a pointless struggle that will end in death…but Alfred, we do not know that. For all we know, we might indeed come through this alive, and would not it be wonderful, then, to be able to say that we fought to the end? And if we are to die, I still think we would be more at peace if we knew that we were dying having fought until the end, having struggled on, keeping hope for the future in our hearts. It is certainly hard, but that is why we are all here together. We are here so that we can keep going together."

"But we can't save each other. We're all dying slowly and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Nothing, except stay together and hold each other close and comfort each other in whatever may come."

"How can you be so hopeful?" America's voice was cracked with despair. "How do you have any hope?"

"If I do not hope, Alfred, who will, when even you have given up?"

_And who will hope when Toris loses his mind, and even I have no hope anymore?_

* * *

He'd thought through everything, looked everywhere, but perhaps Panem wasn't as clueless as he'd thought; perhaps she'd picked up on the possibility that he might kill himself and taken precautions.

The sink and bathtub were deep enough to drown himself, yes, but it was so hard to keep his head under the water, and he didn't quite like the idea of Panem finding him bloated and drowned. Not that the point of his suicide was beauty or grace or anything except his own weakness and inability to bear this any longer, but he still didn't like the idea of drowning.

There were no knives, nothing sharp, and he wouldn't want to die as Lithuania had in the past, anyway - his wrists were thin and small and he could probably cut them if he tried, but he did not want to, he did not want to.

_It's not really…that I want to die. I just want to escape from here. I want it to be something I don't have to think about, something that doesn't require a lot of self-control. Because…because in the end…_

He didn't want to die. He'd died before, technically, and he never wanted to go through it again, even if it _would _be permanent this time. He didn't want to stop living and breathing and fighting for life, even if it was a stupid, ridiculous, painful life where he was owned by a monster who only wanted to exploit him for her own selfish purposes.

And yet he wanted it to stop more than anything else. But that part was selfishness, selfishness as great or greater as Panem's, and he knew it. He knew he did not have the right to end himself.

_But who is left to care? No one will know. Toris, Mr. Russia, Belarus, America, Italy…they'll never have to know. Only Panem will, and she…maybe she deserves to be hurt by my death. Maybe it could change her. If I cannot change her mind in life, perhaps in death I can make a difference. And if nothing else…maybe I can save Russia from being tortured again because of me. She thinks, she thinks she can win me over by breaking me, but I don't break that way. None of us do._

Lithuania, too, had broken because of someone's misguided obsession, and Latvia now understood why it was that Lithuania had been driven to self-harm, to suicide, to desperately striving to escape in any way possible.

_Humans have dignity, humans have an innate desire to be free, and even we nations feel that longing. It's so wrong, so wrong to do this to others, to act as if you own them, to make it so that your whim must always be followed, or punishment will ensue. It's so wrong. I understand everything now._

He wished he could talk to Lithuania, or, at least, to Estonia, who would at least have listened to him, when Panem never would. But Estonia was gone, Lithuania was far away in the prison, and he was alone except for Panem and his ever-growing fear that the others would be tortured to break him, to win him over to Panem by force.

_Somehow, somehow…somehow I have to stop this. Even if it _is_ for my own selfish purposes, in the end…I'll just have to hope something good will come out of it. I can't bear this anymore._

And still he could not think of a method.

* * *

**Well, um, yeah. There's a nice chapter for you.**

**Also, can I just say that the Extremely Drawn Out LietBel is Hinotorihime's fault, for constantly insisting that Lithuania and Belarus had to kiss at least once. So you can thank her or hate her for that, I suppose.**

**That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you guys next time! **


	57. Bloodstained, Battle-scarred

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Bloodstained, Battle-scarred

He had not been so happy to be alive in years, and yet he still woke wanting to die, despite the beautiful dreams he had woken from. There had been no nightmares, merely beautiful dreams of safety and of knowing that Belarus loved him. And that at least was not a dream, for she was lying next to him, asleep, grasping his hand, smiling, and the memory of her kiss still lingered in his mind.

And yet it was not enough to take away the wish to die, not enough to erase the terrible sadness of Panem's prison and his deep wish to escape from it.

"She kissed me," he whispered to the half-darkness of the cell, to his sleeping companions, to anyone who would hear. "She kissed me."

And he had always thought, somehow, that if she kissed him, if she loved him, everything would be better. He would be healed of this pain, this sadness. But she had kissed him, she loved him, and still all he felt was emptiness and pain.

"Why…why then do I feel this way?"

He'd read somewhere that depression was like this, that it was depression that came in and stole happiness, that sapped all feeling and emotion from one's body until one could no longer even feel joy at achieving that which they had wanted most in life. And yet he had not quite believed that, had instead clung to the faint hope that he would recover, that he would someday find something so powerful, a love or friendship so strong, that it could cure him.

"I guess because everything's going to hell, or maybe that's just why _I _feel so depressed," said the voice of America, bitter and melancholy in the darkness. "But you of all people ought to be happy, Toris. We're all happy for you."

"I'm not trying to be unhappy," he said. "I just…it's just…"

"Either it hurts, or it just feels empty." America chuckled. "No wonder you don't think you're a hero when you are. You can't…you can't even feel happy about Nat kissing you, can you?"

He _wanted_ to feel happy; he wanted back the elation he'd felt in that moment, with her lips on his and her arms wrapped around him. He wanted to feel that way always, but now the joy had been replaced by emptiness, and he did not know how to fill that void with happiness again.

"I don't even really…have the energy to feel sorry for you," America whispered. "I kind of wish…I kind of wish…"

He did not know what is was that America wished for; he did not know what he wished for himself, anymore, because he had wished in past days to have Belarus sleeping beside him, loving him, and yet she was with him now and still he could not feel happy.

"I remember things I wished for," he said, "but I don't remember why I wanted them."

But he saw Belarus sleeping beside him, clasping his hand with a gentle smile on her sleeping features, and he knew that no matter what, as long as she was happy, he must work to keep her that way. He must not allow Belarus to be hurt by his weakness, by his sadness.

"We can't tell the others," he said to America. "Even if, even if they know, we can't tell them. We can't let them see how far gone we are, Alfred, because…"

"They're not gonna lose faith they never had to begin with," America said. "I don't think even Russia thinks we're going to get out of here, Toris."

"Perhaps," he said, remembering the despair that had begun to linger about Russia's features in recent days. "But Feliciano? Feliciano wants to think he's dreaming, Alfred, and he wants to have a comforting dream for once. So let's…let's try and be strong, to comfort him, if nothing else."

"Maybe you can do that," America said quietly, "but I don't know if I can anymore. It's just…it's getting too hard, Toris."

"I know, Alfred. I know."

Maybe he'd lived with this illness too long; maybe that was why he could not just give up. But then, he had never been the type of person to give up, and perhaps, perhaps America had been.

_Or perhaps it is the true optimists - those who really believe that we will be okay - perhaps it is the true optimists who fall the hardest and consequently become the most broken when all hope is lost. _

* * *

And again Panem came for Russia, sometimes in the middle of the day, and although the whip-marks on his back and shoulders had healed somewhat, although the pain had dulled and had become almost a normal thing to him, he still found that going with her voluntarily was far harder the second time than it had been.

"She's going to hurt him!" he heard Lithuania whisper, panicked, as the cell door began to close, to separate him from the others. "And he won't talk about it and-"

The door closed, and whatever Lithuania had meant to say, Russia did not hear it. _And I will try to be like you, Toris,_ he added on silently. _So you will not have to suffer anymore._

"You're shaking," Panem informed him, and he looked at this tiny girl who, he was sure, he could break in half if he wanted to, and wished for a moment that she could be killed, permanently, if only because it would mean an end to his torture, to Lithuania's, to Latvia's, to all of the torture that haunted the minds of every captive nation.

But there could be no end as long as Panem remained immortal, and so, he thought, they would all remain here until the end of their days, unless, by some miracle, they were released, or Panem, too, lost her immortality.

They had reached the door now, and on the other side of that door there was torment and pain and little Latvia sitting helpless on the other side of a glass wall, and Russia did not want to go in. And all at once he remembered that his scarf had gotten blood on it last time, and he did not want there to be blood on the only thing he had left of his sister, of the past, not again, and surely not his own blood. Nor did he want to risk his scarf becoming any more frayed and damaged.

"Wait," he said, desperately. "Wait, I want to ask you to do one thing, will you do one thing for me?"

"Depends," said Panem. "What is it?"

"I want, I want to give Raivis my scarf," he said, unwinding the scarf from his neck, holding it out to Panem. "I don't want it to be ruined, and I…I want him to have it."

There was really no reason why Latvia ought to have the scarf more than anyone else, only the fact that he would probably not be hurt, that he would be able to keep the scarf safer than anyone else would. And it seemed such a silly thing - and he _knew_ it was a silly thing - but still it seemed so important, now, at the end of the world.

Panem blinked at him, looking ever so slightly curious.

"You want _Raivis_ to have your scarf?"

"Yes, for, for safe-keeping. Please. It's the only thing I will ask for, I promise."

Panem appeared to be thinking, but then, she smiled.

"All right, Russia. I'll give Raivis your scarf, if he wants it."

She took the scarf from his hands, and he remembered the last time he'd left that scarf behind, how he'd returned to find it spotted with Lithuania's blood. But there was nothing he could do now; it was Latvia's to use as he wished or to reject.

He hoped the little boy would not reject it. It was not a gift - or if it was, it was a very poor gift - but he hoped Latvia could keep the scarf - and consequently, the memories it held - safe.

He left the scarf in Panem's hands, and as he entered the glass room, he once again saw Latvia kneeling silent on the other side of the glass, only this time, the boy's eyes were somber and dulled, and he looked at Russia with an expression that was at hopeless and pleading and so very tired. Latvia, despite his physical youth, looked as worn out as an old man.

"Have courage, Raivis," he mumbled, but Latvia's eyes darkened with pain and Russia did not dare to speak to him again, until Panem came striding through the door to Latvia's side of the wall, still carrying Russia's scarf with her.

"Why…?" Latvia's eyes widened in surprise, perhaps in fear. "Ivan, why?"

"I want you to have it," he said, looking Latvia straight in the eyes, violet on violet. "I would not wish it to be stained with any more blood. You may return it to me when we both leave this place, if you wish."

He did not think Latvia would understand, but the boy nodded soberly, accepting the scarf from Panem and clutching it to his chest.

"I'll guard it with my life," he said, and Russia could not help but chuckle at Latvia's earnest promises.

"Do not do that, little Raivis. That scarf is not nearly as precious as your life."

"Isn't it more precious to you, though?" asked Latvia. "More precious than my life, that is?"

He remembered Latvia lying crumpled and still with his fragile bones broken and his habitually shivering hands crushed and immobile, and he could not fault him for thinking that that scarf, which he had always been so careful of, was more precious than a child's life, although it was not true.

"No, it is not. Not now."

And Latvia smiled, a sad and broken smile tinged with tears he did not have the strength to shed.

"I'm sorry about that, then. It would be better…it would be better if I wasn't precious to anyone."

"But you are very precious," Panem purred, stroking his hair. "And what are you going to do about that, Raivis?"

There was such darkness in Latvia that, it seemed, he could not overcome it sufficiently to reply. He merely stared at Russia, desperate-eyed and broken-hearted, until Panem tired of his silence and strode from the room, leaving Latvia to his sadness, leaving Russia to prepare for his torture.

And though he tried to prepare himself, to calm his mind and soul, to somehow, somehow come to terms with torture, to be strong as Lithuania had once been, as even little Latvia had once been, somehow he could not.

He began to feel, as Panem beat him, that this was the end of all hope, for in a world where even he - he who had dreamed of having an empire that spanned the entire world, he with all his hopes that he had been so sure would someday be fulfilled - if even he was bowed and beaten before Panem, surely there was no hope.

_I used to be so very strong._

And yet he remembered what he had done - all the long days he had wasted, frustrated that his 'family' would not obey him, all the times he had beaten them for their failures instead of cherishing their imperfect love - and, thought that, really, perhaps he had not been strong at all.

Perhaps he had only been an idealistic child with hopes and dreams that he let no one break, and perhaps, perhaps Panem was breaking those once unbreakable dreams.

_If Toris could break, so could anyone else. So too could I, who have never been as strong as Toris, fall into darkness and never return._

Panem's torture was vicious and brutal despite her size, and if such a small girl could inflict such torment on others, how much more must _he_ have hurt people? How much more must he have hurt his family?

_Enough to deserve this. Enough that no one should care if I am tortured here, enough that I would not blame the whole world if they turned their backs and left me to die. _

But Latvia, who held so much kindness in his shattered heart, did not turn his back, but sat on the other side of the wall with his hands pressed to the glass, watching with sorrowful, tearless eyes. And when it was over, and Panem ordered him to put his shirt back on and get up, Russia did so, never breaking eye contact with Latvia. Now that Panem was no longer whipping him, he could see the boy shaking, his hands curled into tight-clenched fists.

"It is all right, Raivis," he said.

"It's not," said Latvia. "It never will be. I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault, little one," he said, and then Panem was pushing him away, out of the room, and he did not dare to disobey, not knowing what the consequences of his disobedience would be for Latvia.

"Do you not see that you are killing him?" he asked Panem, as they walked back to the prison cell. She laughed, and he should have expected it, given her actions up until now, but as it was, her laughter shocked him more than anything else she had done.

"Why do you laugh? How can you laugh? You, you are killing Raivis, and you _laugh_!"

"It's no different from what you did to Toris," said Panem. "You're in no position to judge me, Ivan, and you know it."

Of course he knew it, but he was repulsed by her nonetheless, repulsed and horrified by what she had done to Latvia, sickened by the revelation that she knew exactly what she was doing, and yet, had done nothing to abate the boy's suffering.

"How is it possible that you love him?" he asked, staring at her. "How can you say you love him and still do these things to him?"

Panem smiled.

"And again, Ivan," she said, "how can you, you of all nations on earth, possibly ask me that question, when you did the same to your precious Toris?"

"No," he said. "No, that was different, you…"

"You knew you were hurting him and still you persisted," she said. "My treatment of Raivis is no different. In fact, one might even say I'm showing more care for him than you did for Toris."

"No," said he, "no, I would not say that. At least I am caring for Toris now." _But I was the cause of his fall. _"You, you have broken Raivis and yet you still continue to torture him."

"Torture him? I haven't touched him."

They were outside the cell door now, and as Panem stepped back into the corridor to let him inside, Russia turned, filling the doorway, and said "You know very well what you have done, and when you see the effects clearly, I may pity you. But at this moment I call you a fool."

And then he turned and went inside, and this time he did not bother to deny the torture, because America - poor broken America who was shattering further by the day - had been right about one thing, and that was the fact that Lithuania would worry as long as he was not allowed to help.

"Toris," he said, sitting down next to Lithuania, "I have been a very confused man in the past."

"We've all had our moments of confusion, Ivan," said Lithuania, not questioning what had brought this on, merely content to reassure him. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It is," he said, "when you see this girl, who has done all of these things in a mad state, and you wish to hate her. But then you look at yourself and you see that she is not so very different from the past you. I do not know whether I should pity her or hate her, Toris. She is such a confused and malevolent child."

"You could just hate_ me_," America said dully. "It would save you a whole lot of confusion."

And suddenly he was reminded of his empty, crumbling mansion, of lying still and quiet in the midst of the ruin with no thought of recovery or moving on. At that time, there had been no way for him to even dream of moving on. His dream had been shattered, his family had gone, and though his sanity had been somewhat restored, it was still imperfect, and there were still days when he found himself filled with rage and violence, ready to go and break down the doors of all of Eastern Europe until he found his family and brought them back home.

But more than anger he had felt depression and emptiness and guilt, and that…

"Alfred," he said, "we have done a great wrong to you, haven't we?"

America looked up at him, looking surprised and more than a bit confused.

"What're you talking about?" he asked. "You haven't done anything. I…"

"You have been left alone to your thoughts far too much," said Russia, "and it has hurt you, hasn't it? That is why you are so tired and so hopeless, Alfred. It is because you have been left to your thoughts, and your thoughts have consumed you. And that…that is our fault, not yours."

* * *

America stared at Russia, and of course he'd heard what the big man had said, but it wasn't true, it wasn't. Russia had it all wrong.

"You didn't do nothing," he said. "It's just, I just…"

"It is true that we did nothing, and in this instance we are to be faulted for it," Russia said. "Alfred…I have not been here for long, I will admit, but…"

"But you hate yourself," said Belarus. "You have hated yourself since the moment you came here and…and Ivan is right. We have all been too concerned with everything else to remember you."

"Is this my fault, then?" asked Lithuania, and Italy, of course, just sort of sat there, lost in his thoughts, too tired or too broken to even try to engage in the conversation. _My fault. My fault for being so stupid, for not taking care of Panem. My fault._

"Nothing's your fault," he said. "Especially not yours, Toris."

"It certainly is not Toris' fault," Russia agreed. "He is doing everything he can. But I - if you would not mind me saying so - am far more stable than he or Feliciano or Natalya or even you, and I should have noticed and I should have done something."

"Shut up," he whispered, but his voice was so dull and sad that, really, he didn't know if anyone had heard him. He didn't know if he'd even spoken aloud.

_I'm so…so tired. I just want to go to sleep, but I guess…I don't even deserve that. I know I don't deserve that. I couldn't go to sleep, even if I wanted to. Because that's one thing I can control. I can make myself so tired…so tired that I drown in tiredness…and maybe, if I did that…I'd lose all the other feelings. Maybe they would go away. But, but…I have to remember, that's not why I'm not sleeping. I have to keep thinking about what I did. If I do that, if I punish myself, maybe…maybe…_

"Everyone," said Italy quietly, "Alfred's crying."

"I'm not!" he shouted, although he was, fatigue and desperation and self-hatred all welling up within him, bursting out through his tears. "I'm not crying! Everybody leave me alone! If, if I'm suffering, it's what I deserve, so it's nobody's business! If I want to punish myself, why shouldn't I be allowed to? How come Toris is allowed to punish himself and I'm not? I deserve way more pain than he ever did!"

And for a long moment there was silence, except for his own ragged sobs, and he felt so ashamed of his tears, and yet he could not stop them, despite all the hateful thoughts he directed at himself to try and be strong.

_You're making them all pity you. You're supposed to bear it on your own. Stupid, stupid Alfred, if you're going to atone for your sins, you can't let yourself be pitied. You've got to go on alone._

And then: "Hey, Sunshine," in a fragile voice choked with tears, a voice that spoke his words, but was not his own.

"Do you remember," murmured Lithuania, slim, soft hands reaching up, stroking the tears away, "do you remember that day? The last time you called me 'sunshine'?"

He did remember, remembered Lithuania collapsed on the bathroom floor in some building - he guessed they'd been in a meeting - and he remembered the blood and Lithuania's tears, remembered trying to comfort him.

"Y-yeah. I remember."

"Do you remember you said that you would be there for me?" Lithuania asked. "You said 'I don't know what he did to you, and you don't have to tell me, okay? But if you want to, if you need to, I'll be here.' You said those words, to me, believing in their truth, didn't you? Didn't you promise with your whole heart to be there for me?"

"Y-yeah. I did. But Toris, I…"

"Those words helped me move forward!" cried Lithuania, in such a ringing, powerful voice that America rather expected the trumpets of the apocalypse to sound and bring a true end to their world. "True, Alfred, I may not have recovered, but those words - the words you spoke to me with such hope and honesty - those words prompted me to try and live! Would you, then, say that nothing has come out of your life? Would you say, then, that you deserve all that has happened to you?"

"One good deed can't change the fact that I caused the end of the world, Toris!"

"But it can," said Lithuania. "I've always believed, Alfred, that human beings - and consequently, personified nations - are worth more than we would let ourselves believe. Alfred, believe me…in the eyes of any sane person - and, indeed, in the eyes of all but the truly psychotic - you are to blame for nothing! You did the best you could, the best you could was not enough, and yet you should not be blamed for trying."

"But, but I didn't try, Toris…"

"You knew no better way," said Russia. "Are you to be blamed for not knowing what to do?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! I have to be, there's no one else to blame, so…"

"Maybe it would be better if we'd blamed nobody," said Italy suddenly, and America looked over at to see Italy on his feet, looking down at them, his brown eyes sparking strangely. And it struck him even before Italy spoke that he must have said something ignite this passion in Italy, who had been so quiet and withdrawn.

"Maybe if we hadn't all blamed each other, if we hadn't all been so angry about things we knew no one could control, if we hadn't made everything our bosses did so important to us, if we hadn't acted like those things were our fault, if we hadn't acted like we were supposed to be able to control our crazy bosses… If we had just all stopped blaming each other, if we had all stopped blaming ourselves… If we had all looked at each other for one minute and just acknowledged the fact that we all made mistakes, that we all screwed up, but there were also a lot of things that weren't really our faults… Maybe, if we'd all worked together instead of blaming everyone else, or refusing to blame anyone and tearing ourselves apart instead…we wouldn't be trapped in the stupid nightmare!"

And they could do nothing but stare at him in silence, so firm was his tone, so determined his eyes.

"You know, I blame myself too, for a lot of things," said Italy. "Like, if I think really hard about it…I know that I was the reason Kiku was captured, the reason he died. If I think about it really hard…I have to acknowledge that all of this is real! I have to acknowledge that I couldn't stop my best friend from running back into an explosion and dying! I have to acknowledge that Ludwig and Kiku are dead! It's not like…I'm any worse off, or any better off, than you guys! But at least I'm trying to move ahead! At least I'm trying to believe that this can have a happy ending, even if it isn't in this life, even if we all die here! At least I'm trying to believe we'll all be able to smile again one day! At least…at least I'm not giving up!"

America could not think of a thing to say. He could only stare at Italy, and as he watched, the red-haired boy lowered his head, the determination and anger on his face replaced by a bittersweet, saddened smile.

"But, despite all of that…I understand why you would give up. It's understandable to give up, once you realize how bad the situation is. But I don't think…I don't think it helps anyone. I don't believe that hating yourselves will make things better for everyone else. It certainly won't make you feel any better, will it?"

"No," said Lithuania in a quiet voice. "No, it won't, Feliciano. But it's not necessarily something we can help."

"I know," said Italy. "And I was wrong. I was really wrong, to get mad like that. It's just that…I don't want you all to give up! Especially not, especially not America, because he's so young, and he deserves to still have a lot of hope. The rest of us, who've lived for a long time…I still feel sad that we're giving up, but it's okay, you know? The end has to come for all of us eventually. It's just that he's so young, and he doesn't deserve to feel like that. And I wish…I wish he wouldn't! I wish we could try to move forward, even if we don't get very far!"

America knew he was supposed to feel heartened by Italy's words, that he was supposed to take courage and try again, as a hero should.

And yet he did not have the strength to try.

_It's because…I know now…that I'm really not a hero. I've never been a hero. And I never will be._

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have to apologize," said Italy, fidgeting nervously, as if he thought he had said too much and was suddenly ashamed. "Really, I should be apologizing. I've always been sort of resilient, in a way, so it's not really fair of me to yell at you because you're hurting. I'm sorry too. But you don't have to apologize. None of us blame you, do we?"

"No," said Lithuania, "and I never have, Alfred. How could I?"

"There is really nothing to blame you for," Russia said, with a slight, bitter chuckle. "Really, I should be congratulating you, Alfred, for not doing as badly as I did."

_But…regardless of whether I hit Perri - which I didn't, and I never would have done it, not after seeing Toris and what happened to him - that doesn't change the fact that _Perri_ was the one who became an irreversible psychopath, not Eduard or one of the others. At least they…at least they maintained their humanity in the end._

"I don't blame you," said Belarus. "And, more than that, I do not think it is your fault that Panem is what she is. Ivan is right, you never willfully or physically hurt her, yet she still ended up the worst of all of us. Why do you think that is, Alfred?"

"B-because…because at least the people who were beaten and tortured…had someone standing behind them, holding their hands. But Perri…had to live alone for all that time, so I guess…even if there was no one torturing her…she still ended up hurting a lot."

"That may be true," said Belarus. "In fact, I won't deny that that is probably true. But that does not fully explain the insanity, nor does it explain one other, far more important factor - the rise of the nation of Panem itself."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" interrupted Italy, far more talkative now than he had been in days. "Because I've thought about this too - this theory. Oh! Natalya, you were listening, that day? You heard what I was saying to Feliks back then?"

"Your theory that the personifications of nations are bent and broken to reflect what their nation will become? Yes, I heard. And I think you might be right. Maybe not entirely, but certainly partially."

Belarus turned her eyes on America, and while he could have shoved Italy and Russia and even Lithuania out of sight, out of mind, if he'd wanted to, this was Belarus, and he could not tear his eyes away from her. She seemed to be threatening him with death if he did not listen, and even if she was not, he did not wish to take the chance.

And more than that, he wanted this chance to look at her and know she was speaking to him, speaking to reassure him alone.

"Alfred, I think it might be worthwhile to consider the idea that Panem would have ended up this way regardless of the course you took in raising her. I think we should all consider the idea that she was born insane and that there is nothing she could have done to stop herself from becoming this way."

"But she wasn't always like this! She, she…"

"Were any of us like this, in the beginning?" Lithuania asked, his voice quiet with exhaustion and defeat. "Oh, Alfred…I really…I really hate seeing you like this, you know that, don't you? You know it doesn't make us feel any better, to see you this way?"

"I know, Toris. I know."

It wasn't that he didn't believe them; he knew they were right, he knew it wasn't helping anything for him to be like this, and yet, and yet…

"But what am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, looking up at them, searching their eyes for answers that no one could give him. "Where…where do I go from here? What do I do with wanting to, to…?"

Gun to the head motion; of course Lithuania remembered. He'd made the same gesture once.

"I want to say," said Lithuania slowly, eyes downcast, head bent low, "that I know the answer to that question. But the fact is that there is no one who does. I've lived through many things, Alfred - and I'd like to think I've helped others to survive similar catastrophes as what's befallen me. But never once have I been able to give an answer to the question of suicide. I don't know how to move on. And it's not fair of me to beg you to find answers where I can't."

* * *

**I actually have no idea what happened in this chapter. I was working on it, and suddenly Italy started talking, and then no one else would shut up. So this chapter is way longer than it was intended to be. Next chapter will probably be a little bit shorter. As always, I hope you enjoyed, and reviews are always appreciated! Thank you for your support! :)**


	58. The Hanging Tree

Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Hanging Tree

Long after the lights had gone out in every other room of Panem's headquarters, Latvia remained awake, pacing and pacing across his room, certain that he was wearing tracks in the carpet, but no longer caring.

_And I must die, for what I've done._

But what had he done, really? He had only let a little girl - who, more than likely, had already been irreparably damaged when he met her - go alone to her doom. And in that single action he had doomed the world.

_But it's not…it's not for the sake of this world that I would kill myself. Not really. I know…I know my death can accomplish nothing on a grand scale, but I think, at the very least, it would stop her…it would stop her from senselessly torturing Russia. And, and at least…_

"If I am dead," said he, stopping in front of the window to look out at the darkened sky above, "she cannot torture me any longer." And so Raivis Galante, personification of Latvia, acknowledged that he, like all the others, had been tortured, although he, like America, had not been tormented physically, but mentally.

"And if I am dead…" It was dark outside, a clouded night, and he could not see the stars for the clouds. "If I am dead, perhaps…perhaps she will change. Perhaps I can force her hand."

He knew, of course, the ultimate reason behind his actions, and knew that reason to be a simple and selfish one.

_In the end, it's…it's as if I can no longer care about anyone else. I'm just…I'm so tired._

He sank down on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes with shaking, bone-thin hands. How long now? How long had he been pacing, endlessly pacing, racking his already tormented brain for a method of suicide, or else for a reason substantial enough to stop his persistent self-destructive fantasies?

_Reasons to live: Toris. Ivan. Alfred. Natalya. Anyone else who is still alive. If they hear about me dying, they might blame themselves. I could also…I could also count Perri as a reason to live…_

"But what is Perri now?" he asked. "A ghost? No, no, she is a vengeful spirit, come to haunt me from her grave and to drive me into mine. For Panem said it herself - she is not the girl I loved, not anymore. She killed that girl, she said, so if I die…if I die, I'll see Perri again, won't I? It's not as if…it's not as if she can be gone forever, is it? Would fate be so cruel?"

And he knew that fate _would be_, but still he wished, still he dreamed, and still he sat and tried to think of reasons sufficient to stray him from his course. And still no reason presented itself.

_Reasons to die: Everyone who is still alive is supposed to die before I do. Panem is guaranteed her five years with me, and at the end…she'll draw the torture out as much as possible, to keep me alive longer. I know her. I know what she will do. I don't want to be tortured. I could have…I could have endured that, at the beginning. But now there's no reason to. When the time comes that I am alone, and she tortures me to keep me alive, there will be even less reason. _

"Eddy will be there," he whispered. "Even if, if Perri isn't in heaven, Eddy will be. And surely, even if…if I'm right, and nations don't go to heaven…surely hell can't be any worse than this. If nothing else, I'll suffer with Eddy by my side. And, and Toris will come soon enough…and we'll all…be together…"

He knew he shouldn't be talking to himself, he knew it made him sound insane, but what did it matter? What did any of it matter?

"I know I'm the reason she hurt Russia," he said to no one at all, or perhaps to the ghosts of Estonia and the child Panem, who might, perhaps, be listening to him from whatever afterlife they had found themselves in. "It was my weakness…my inability to see her not as a monster, but as the girl I once loved…that brought us to this point. From the moment she hurt Russia…from that moment, everything was my fault. And if I could stop it, I…I don't think I'd mind dying. If I die…she can't hurt anyone else on my account, can she? Can she?"

He did not see how she could. He did not see how things could possibly be made worse by his death. He had struggled for decades towards a salvation that he, a child with an innocence that was ever being shattered by pain, had always believed existed just over the next hilltop. And yet, he could not see even the faintest ray of sunlight now.

All was in darkness. His heart held no trace of sunlight. It had begun to die in a cold Russian mansion, long, long ago, and now, in the heart of a dystopia, the sun had gone out and could no longer be revived.

_This is truly the end of the world, when even a nation's heart knows no hope. If even I…can't see any good in this situation…what's the point of continuing to live? Anyway, the end result will be the same. I am going to die either way. Today or five years from now, what does that matter? How can the date of my death change anything?_

He cast his eyes around the room, searching, praying for a method to present itself. A knife, a sharp piece of glass, anything at all, and he would be able to make the attempt. And though he doubted his ability to cut his wrists to the bone, as Lithuania once had, he would try nonetheless.

_The end of the world is not the time for half-measures._

He remembered another time when there had been no half-measures. He remembered, to this very moment, how it felt to have his bones broken and pulverized. He remembered being tortured and he remembered being broken, and he remembered that the same thing had happened to Lithuania and to Estonia.

And still they had been broken again.

And as he thought back to that time, his hand, which had fallen limply to his side, brushed a soft and somehow familiar piece of fabric. Latvia looked down, and his eyes fell upon Russia's scarf, which he had laid so carefully on the bed when Panem had returned him to his room.

"Of course," he whispered, and looked up at the fan which hung suspended from the ceiling. "Of course."

He picked up the scarf, held it close to him and breathed in the smell of snow and blood, a smell which seemed to him like the smell of depression itself. And for a long moment he sat there, head bowed, as if preparing himself for a most torturous ordeal.

But when he raised his head, he smiled, although it was a grim and tortured smile, full of pain and anguish, determination and fear.

"Then, in the name of whatever God has cursed all nations to suffer and die, so let it be."

And in his mind an unfamiliar poem - the first to come into his mind since the world had ended - began to sound.

* * *

All was ready and in place, and yet Latvia remained with his feet planted firmly on the ground, willing himself to make the fatal decision.

He had made the preparations - bringing over a chair, standing up on it to reach with trembling fingers and tie Russia's scarf to the ceiling fan, praying, praying that he would not be interrupted. He thought everyone was asleep, but if he was wrong, if there was someone watching him, he would be stopped, and he did not know what he would do then.

And, with everything readied for his death, Latvia had sat down to write the poem - or, rather, the song - which had been echoing in his head as he prepared. He had rather expected, when he began to write, that the song would take the form of a suicide note, but instead, it was a story that, at first glance, had very little to do with what he was about to do. But as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the now-completed song, he found that he could decipher the meaning of almost every line, although, indeed, very little of the story had anything to do with him.

"This is no suicide note," he said. "This is a memorial. It would be selfish of me, to write only for myself, now. I have to write for all the others, the ones who had no words to give. I have to…I have to…I must make it so that we will be remembered, all of us, through this song. This is the only song that can be written for us, so it must be about all of us."

He looked down at the notebook in his hands, and considered adding to his song, considered adding a note that would tell of its authorship, a note that would explain its meaning. But then, he thought, the song did not sound a bit like their story - the story of the nations, the story it had been derived from. Perhaps it was best that humanity interpret its meaning without his help.

And with that decision made, he had no choice but to lay his notebook aside, no choice but to rise and go to confront his death, and all the uncertainty and misgivings that came with it.

For there was much uncertainty in him, even as he climbed onto the chair again, even as he stood like a man awaiting the executioner, who would place the noose around his neck. Even at that moment, he began to think of Lithuania, of how this might hurt him if he ever learned of it, of Estonia, who had begged him to try and stay alive, and even of Panem, who, doubtless, would be enraged by his death.

But for all of this, for all of his misgivings, he could not help but think that it did not matter if he lived or died, and as he placed the rope around his neck, he thought again of the executions of old, and smiled bitterly to himself.

_For what am I but a criminal, paying the ultimate price for my crimes? And what is this if not a hanging tree? _

This would be more than a suicide, he decided, more than a simple selfish act of ending his life. This would be atonement, or the closest he could ever come to atonement.

"With my death, I, Raivis Galante, do take on the burden and blame for what has befallen this world. I a-accept my failure to stop the collapse of this world, and am prepared to die for my failure. So let it be," he whispered, testing the words and finding that he rather liked them.

"And yet, it's just romanticism," said he. "I don't really want this to just, just be my selfishness and my weakness. I'd like it to be beautiful. Just once, I'd like something to be beautiful."

But it was not beautiful, and he knew that. Beauty was Lithuania's sunlit eyes and kind hands. Beauty was Estonia's shy affection. Beauty was little Perri Jones smiling up at him from under the table.

Suicide was not a beautiful thing, and he knew that it was not, knew that no matter how long he tried to rationalize this, to somehow make it beautiful, it would nonetheless remain a selfish, ugly thing.

And still he stood motionless on the chair, aware that he must, sooner or later, take the fatal action, and remaining unable to do it.

"What am I waiting for?" he whispered. "What in the world am I waiting for?"

Perhaps he was waiting for a sign, a sign to tell him to die at this very moment, or else to forbear for now. Perhaps he was waiting for Lithuania to come in, to wake him from this dream and tell him that everything would be all right. Or perhaps he was waiting for Estonia's ghost to appear, to remind him that he must not die, that he would be breaking his word if he did.

And when he had thought of all these things, still he did not know what it was that kept him standing there. And so, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what must follow, and as he did he kept his eyes fixed on the door, waiting-

Suddenly he knew what he had been waiting for, and he lowered his head, feeling the rope chafe against his neck, trying not to sob aloud at the sheer irony of it all.

Somehow, through some trick of his broken mind, he had been waiting for Panem to come and save him.

_In books, the star-crossed lovers save each other. _

But they were not star-crossed lovers, not really, for star-crossed lovers gave each other their souls, sharing equally, wanting only the best for each other, while they, they had sucked each other dry until there was nothing left in either of their souls but darkness and twisted echoes of their old feelings.

Then, if he had been waiting for Panem, there was no reason for him to wait any longer. She would not save him - she could not!

"I was wrong," he said, pretending that his words would, just this once, be able to reach her. "I was wrong to think that you were the person who could save me. I'm sorry, Perri. From the moment I met you, I…I put too much of a burden on you. I had too many dreams. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come to this. I really didn't. But I hope that if nothing else…you'll be able to learn from this. And I'm sorry we couldn't play together happily again, like we used to. N-next time - if there is a next time - I'd like to meet you again. I'd like it if, next time…we could live happily."

He seemed to see a thousand memories in that next moment, flashing through his mind with such speed that he could barely stand it.

He saw Lithuania, his eyes and smile full of confident, sparkling sunlight. He saw a Lithuania who was still sane, he saw a Lithuania who could not even stand erect, and all the Lithuanias in between. And at the end he saw Lithuania, beaten and broken and scarred, but with Belarus by his side, taking him in his arms and shielding him from the whole world.

He saw Estonia, shielding him, defying Russia to save him. He saw Estonia, laughing madly. He saw Estonia with a whole tragedy written in his eyes, a tragedy he had never been able to put into written words. He saw Estonia lying dead a thousand times over, until at last he saw him lying crumpled and beaten and knew he would not rise again.

And he saw little Panem, smiling up at him from beneath the table. He saw her running, laughing, her braids flying in the wind. He saw her grown and confident, standing before all the nations the day of that fatal explosion. He saw her dancing in her green silk dress, and he saw her framed against the sunset, and for a moment, with all these memories before him, a great sadness overwhelmed him. But it was gone in an instant, and Latvia was gone with it, gone in search of whatever world lay beyond the cruel one which had broken him and all that he loved.

* * *

Panem expected to find Latvia nestled under the blankets, asleep, curled up like a little baby animal. He was so adorable like that, really, that she almost hated to wake him when she found him like that. But he would have to be woken sooner or later, to face another day.

She was looking down as she entered the room, humming to herself, and at first she did not notice that anything was amiss. But then she looked up, to see if Latvia was still asleep or if he had woken before her, and saw the body hanging in the center of the room.

For a moment she stared in silence, and the next moment her mind shut down and she could comprehend nothing. All was darkness. There was no body in the room; she had imagined it. Latvia was not hanging dead there; this was a dream from which she would shortly awake.

When her vision cleared, nothing had changed. And for once in her life Panem did not know what she ought to do.

"Raivis?" she tried. If she spoke, she would wake, wouldn't she? Wouldn't she?

She did not wake. Neither, for that matter, did Latvia's corpse.

Then she noticed, as if her mind was blocking the truth from her mind, that Latvia's notebook lay open on the bed. She moved over to the bed, avoiding the body hanging from the fan, and picked up the notebook, looking down at the poem Latvia had written there.

It was a poem, she thought at first, about two lovers, but that wasn't quite right, was it? He was not speaking as himself - he was not speaking to her - until the final verse.

_Are you, Are you  
Coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me…_

"Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be…" She looked up at Latvia's body, her eyes wide. "…if we met up at midnight, in the hanging tree."

And, as if the rope had given away and Latvia's body had fallen, a world of undeniable weight came crashing down upon her.

She screamed. Her cry echoed through the room, slashing through the silence with a blade of anguish and denial. And still Latvia did not wake.

"Raivis!" she shouted. "Raivis, you can't do this! You've got to wake up! Wake up right now! I'm ordering you!"

He wasn't moving. He was not going to wake up. He would never wake up. She'd-

She felt as if the world had fallen on top of her shoulders; somehow, she could no longer stand. But she could still scream.

"No! No! Wake up!" She ran her hands through her hair, screaming at him as if, if she only cried loud enough, he would obey her and awaken. "You can't do this to me! Wake up right now! This isn't how it's supposed to be! Raivis, you can't do this!"

There were footsteps and slamming doors; soldiers burst in and stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the hanging body and the girl on her knees beside it.

Bailey was the first to move.

"What happened?" he asked, skirting around the body to Panem's side. "What…why did he…?"

"It's not my fault!" she shrieked. "It's not my fault it's not my fault it's not my fault! I didn't kill him! It's not my fault! I would never have hurt him, you know that, you know I wouldn't-!"

"I know you didn't." Despite his obvious horror, Bailey spoke as if the idea of her hurting Latvia was an impossibility. It was. It was. She had never hurt him. She would never have hurt him. Why would he do this?

"Why would he?" she sobbed. "How can he? It wasn't supposed to be like this; we were supposed to be _happy_… Why would he kill himself?"

_"You are killing Raivis, and you laugh."_

"Ivan," she hissed, and Bailey drew back, flinching away from her. He was strange, that one; despite being human, she could swear he could sense her fury and urge to kill.

"W-what? What are you talking about?"

"Everyone out!" she shouted, but she reached up and dug her fingers into Bailey's arm, so that he would know to stay. And when they had gone, she stood, shaking with fury, and looked him in the eyes. He was quaking with fear, so like Latvia always had, and she almost wanted to hurt him for reminding her of Latvia. But no; she needed him now. If she was to kill him, it would have to be later.

"Bailey, you're to stay here," she said, her voice sounding deadly in its calm. "Make sure no one disturbs the body, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Bailey replied. He swallowed nervously. "B-but what are you going to do?"

"Me?" She threw back her head and laughed, pain and madness uniting in her voice and echoing through the room. "I'm going to do what I always do, Bailey. I'm going to punish the ones who thwarted my happiness. After all…isn't that my only purpose, now Raivis is gone? Isn't it all I can do to take revenge, when everything I ever wanted has been taken away?"

_Isn't it all I can do to give in to insanity? Isn't it true that I would die if I ever let myself acknowledge my pain in any other way? Isn't it true that this mad quest is the only thing that keeps me alive?_

* * *

***braces self for outraged screaming* I've been shamelessly teasing one of my friends (*cough*Firebird*cough*) with this chapter and I'm pretty sure she's going to kill me for it, so you may not be seeing me again. (Especially if you plan to help her kill me.)**

**But, um, yeah. Sorry-not-sorry about all of this. **

**Also note on the whole _Hanging Tree_ thing: no, I don't know why it had to be that song. It was Raivis' idea and he wouldn't be quiet, so I let him do it. I don't have _Mockingjay _with me right now (because I am poor and the library isn't open yet), but I seem to remember the authorship of the song in-universe was unknown, so it seemed like it would work out all right. **

**I also have lots of confused thoughts on what events Raivis might have been referencing in song, so yeah, I wouldn't complain if anyone wanted to hmu for a discussion.**

**But for now, I'm going to go enjoy my last hours on earth before Firebird either kills me or stops talking to me forever, so um, I hope you're not _too_ outraged (I would be very outraged if I were you), and I hope you...enjoyed is not the right word here, so I hope you...are deeply angered by what I've done? Or something?**

**Goodbye. (Please don't actually kill me, Firebird or anyone else, I want to live. Permanently maiming me is fine though. I deserve it. Just let me keep my fingers so I can keep giving you reasons to hate me.)**


	59. Snowfall

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Snowfall

It was early morning when Panem came. They knew, not because they were told, but because she came before the guards usually did. There were no taunts before the torture on this morning. On this morning, there was no warning of what was to come.

She swept in like a winter storm, and ice seized their hearts as they looked at her. Russia could see the anger on her face, the desperation and wildness in her eyes, and he knew, he knew that something terrible had happened.

"She has gone mad," he whispered, but of course, she had been mad before. And yet, and yet, it was worse now, as if the last vestige of her sanity had been stripped away, leaving only raw madness.

"W-what's wrong?" Lithuania started up as if out of a dream, eyes deer-wide, staring at Panem. "Panem, what's happened?"

The wail that issued from Panem's mouth was the most agonized, desperate, broken thing Russia had ever heard. And it was then that he knew.

"I told you," he blurted, "I told you if you continued it would kill him!"

Her eyes were blazing mad, her screams echoing off the walls. "_SHUT UP_! It's not my fault! It's not it's not it's not!"

"What happened?" Lithuania was either slow to understand or simply in denial. "What, what's wrong?"

"She has killed Raivis," said Russia, and he hated himself for knowing without being told. But he recognized the brokenness in her eyes, and _he knew_.

_She looks worse than I did when they left me alone back then. She looks as if she has lost every hope and dream she ever had. _

"Oh my god," America breathed, while Lithuania shook his head, eyes glazing over in denial. Belarus grasped his hand, her gaze falling to the cold floor. Italy began to whisper rapidly in his own language; what he said, Russia could not tell.

"I didn't kill him!" Panem shrieked. "I didn't, I didn't!"

She turned on him, and it was murder he saw in her every movement and expression. She had come here to kill, for vengeance, for solace, for sanity's sake. Could she regain her sanity if all of them were to die? Or was it lost to her?

Everything was lost.

"It's your fault!" Panem raged at him. "You broke him! You broke him before I was even born, so don't stand there and say it's my fault, that I killed him! You broke Raivis! It's your fault! You…you hurt him so badly he couldn't remember how to be happy! If he'd been happy he wouldn't have _died_!"

And how could he argue with that? He remembered, he remembered what he'd done. How could he argue against her words, when he was the one who had beaten Latvia until he was bloody and broken and nothing like the child he used to be?

"You're right," he said, ignoring the fact that Lithuania was sobbing his name, ignoring Belarus's startled gasp. "It is my fault. I will accept the blame and necessary punishment for his death. Would that…would that make you happy?"

She scared him, she horrified him, and still he knew how alike they were. He could imagine her killing herself, as he had once tried to, as he suspected little Latvia probably had, from grief and rage and loneliness. And suicide was such a horrible experience, an experience that even he, who had died a thousand deaths, had never forgotten.

And regardless of what she had done, of what she deserved, she was only a broken child, as he had once been.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and shocked, her small body shaking with madness and anger. "You'll…you'll accept the punishment?"

"I will," he said.

Her laughter rang out like thunder, and when she had finished with her hysterical, mad, broken laughing, she lowered her head, watching him from under her hair.

"You're really prepared to accept the consequences?" she murmured.

He was not going to walk out of this, he knew he was not, and still he answered.

"No matter how painful or unrelenting, I will accept it."

"Then die!" she shouted, and a moment later he heard the first gunshot.

And he knew, if he knew nothing else: _This is what dying feels like._

* * *

There were words echoing round and round in Lithuania's head, an unending chorus of agony so loud that he felt as if he might fall to his knees, clutching at his head, screaming, and never be able to stand again.

And yet, before he could give in to this weakness, to this broken urge, Panem was screaming, and Russia, so calm and so steady, so unlike his old self, was trying to take blame.

"Ivan!" Was he even speaking aloud? Could they even hear him?

The gunshot rang out and he lunged forward, thinking of nothing but taking the bullet. He was too late, far too late, for he had been on the other side of the room, and when the bullet hit Russia, he stopped, staring.

Russia flinched, placing one large hand over his right arm, lowering his head a moment to survey the damage. And still Panem held the gun aloft, as if taking aim for a second shot.

"Ivan!" Lithuania stepped forward, but before he could reach Russia, before he could shield him, he was pulled back, strong hands grasping his arms.

"Alfred! Alfred, let go of me!"

There was a second gunshot, then a third, and Russia went to his knees, whimpering. And for a moment Panem hesitated, staring down at him.

"Do it," he said, smiling at her. "I deserve this, don't I? Remember, I am the reason for Raivis' suffering. I accepted that blame; now, punish me. Do not waver now, little girl. It is too late, isn't it?"

"Far too late," said Panem, smiling, and Lithuania strained against America's grip, screaming.

"Alfred, you have to let go! He's going to let her kill him, she's going to kill him, I have to…"

"There's nothing we can do," America whispered. "She's gonna kill him no matter what. You can't die for him, Toris. It wouldn't help him. Nothing can help him."

But someone had to. They couldn't just let him die - not Russia, who had so much hope and so much life still in him, not Russia who had only wanted them to make it out alive.

"Stop!" Lithuania shrieked. "Stop, Panem! Please, please stop! I'll die in his place, I'll…I'll do anything you want!"

"She's not gonna listen," America said.

"We have to make her!" Lithuania cried, and Belarus, who had fallen on her knees and seemed powerless to move, shook her head.

"She cannot," Belarus said. "If she listened, she'd have to stop. She can't stop. She just wants the hurt to go away. She doesn't know what to do with it. It's too much for her. Look at how she's shaking. Ivan- Ivan understands that. He understands that she is broken."

"But she can't…she can't…"

And yet she could. They could not stop her, although Lithuania would have tried, if only he could have made America let him go. But to try would be pointless, for none could save Panem's victims when she was like this. Panem's vengeance was wild and violent, and none could halt it, no matter what the price they paid.

But when Russia finally collapsed, bleeding in what seemed to Lithuania like a thousand places, sobbing with pain, Panem did not take the killing shot. Instead she stood over him, and for a moment she looked up at the rest of them, expressionless, until her face broke into a smile so like Estonia's that Lithuania felt as if his heart would shatter.

"Now," said Panem, with broken eyes and a triumphant smile, "Now you have paid for what you did."

Then she turned and left the cell, never delivering the killing blow. And at first Lithuania did not understand, but at the moment that America released him, he ran to Russia, saw the sheer amount of blood and knew that Panem had had no need to speed Russia's death. He was dying already.

So Lithuania lifted Russia's head onto his lap, cradling him, waiting. He did not know if Russia could still speak, and he did not know what to say.

"Toris," said Russia, whimpering, "I really had not realized how much that hurt. I'm…I'm sorry…"

"What are you apologizing for?" he cried. "What have you left to apologize for now, Ivan?"

"Everything," said Russia. "I have so many things to apologize for that I do not know where to begin."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing! I let her shoot you! I…I let you die."

And once again the weight of an entire world of dying nations crashed down upon his shoulders, and it was all he could do not to cry. But he must not cry now. Russia would be hurt if he cried. He must not let Russia be saddened, not now. He must not give Russia any more reason to hate himself.

* * *

Lithuania would be apologizing until the end of time, Russia thought, and what could be sadder than that? What could be sadder than a boy who had done nothing wrong, but who was consumed by the thought that he had failed, and who continued to apologize for things he had never done?

Only one thing could be sadder than this, and that was the thought of a little child being forced to take his own life because there was no other option.

"You did not let me die," he said. "I was…I was going to die either way, Toris. She was…she was torturing me to hurt Raivis, to break him. If he had lived…if he had lived, I would have died eventually. He was not able to pretend to love her anymore, Toris. He broke as you once did. So I should be blamed, shouldn't I? Shouldn't I?"

"You didn't do that to him, Ivan! Panem did!"

"But I broke him first." He sighed. "Toris…what do apologies matter now? We are all dying, aren't we? We will all die here, won't we?"

"So you lied to us," America said. "You really don't believe we're going to make it out."

"Well, no," he said, "but…but I hoped. I had to hope. It would have killed me if I had not, like it killed Raivis."

He met each of their eyes in turn - America's, tearstained; Belarus's void of emotion but with darkness at their core; Italy's, sad but accepting. And he looked at Lithuania, Lithuania with those dull green eyes that had once shone with radiant sunlight.

"Do not let it kill you," he said. "Let her kill you if there is no way of escape, but do not…do not take your lives. It will change nothing."

"It would only make things worse," said Belarus, coldly, angrily.

"No," he said. "No, now you are blaming Raivis. Do not blame him, Tasha. It is not his fault. You would have broken too."

He was starting to feel tired, suddenly, and it was as if his limbs were going numb. He did not know how many times she had shot him, nor exactly where, but he could feel the pain starting to numb and it…it was so strange; he could have sworn the pain would continue until he died, but it seemed to be ebbing away.

"Toris," he said. "Toris, I'm so tired…"

And he realized suddenly that this numbness, this exhaustion, must be something that came just before death, and a wave of panic shot through him.

"I'm scared," he whispered, and Lithuania looked down at him, smiling, stroking the hair away from his eyes.

"Don't be scared," said Lithuania, his tone reassuring, although his voice was shaking, and he looked as if he might cry. "There's nothing to be scared of."

"B-but…I…"

"Don't be scared," Lithuania repeated. "It will be wonderful where you're going, Ivan. It will be safe. No one will hurt you anymore. A-and…and Katya will be there. Eduard, too, and…and Raivis and all the others. And in not too much longer, the rest of us will get there too, and we'll all be a family again. W-won't that be nice?"

"Yes," he whispered, closing his eyes. "That would be nice? Oh, but Toris?"

"Yes?"

"Is it a warm place? I don't want it to be like, like my homeland. I want it to be warm."

"It will be warm, Vanya. And there will be…there will be sunflowers. It's sunflowers you love, isn't it?"

_Yes. Sunflowers and sunlight and warmth and your eyes full of sunlight. I wish…I wish I could see those eyes full of sunlight, just one more time. _

His body felt so heavy. Lithuania was shaking now.

"Toris?"

"Hmm?" Lithuania's voice was tear-choked and sorrowful.

"I love you."

A pause. "I know, Vanya. I know."

There was no need for Lithuania to say those words, not when he had always loved so well and faithfully. There was no reason for Lithuania to say anything at all, really, but Russia wanted to hear him. He wanted to stay and continue hearing Lithuania's voice above him for all eternity.

And yet, he was _so tired_. And he could swear he heard Ukraine and Latvia calling for him somewhere. He could swear he could see them tugging Estonia along behind them through the sunlit fields.

Maybe Lithuania was right. Yes, Lithuania must be right. Lithuania had never been wrong before.

* * *

They knew the moment that Russia died, not by any physical sign, but by the long, low moan that came from Lithuania as he knelt hunched over, still holding Russia. And yet, when he lifted his head to the ceiling, there were no tears, and his voice, though broken, was accepting.

"Go on then, Ivan," he said. "Go and find Katya and Raivis and Eduard. Find the sunflowers. You could never have found them here, you know, for all your trying. There are no sunflowers here. Only snow."

Then he fell silent, and this was such an oppressive silence that none of them could break it. They had all been struck dumb, it seemed, and even Belarus could think of nothing to say in those long, broken moments after it became clear to them all that Russia was dead.

_My brother…is dead. Just like Katya, Ivan is dead._

Somehow, she could not feel the same hysteria she had felt when she had believed Lithuania dead. For although her heart ached, although she rather wanted to cry, she knew, too, that Russia's death might have been best for him.

_He wanted to believe that we could escape. He wanted to believe that everyone would be all right. And yet…and yet he is dead. But perhaps it is better. I believe Panem intended to break him using Toris. Perhaps it is better that he died before his hope was entirely lost._

But there were some with her even now whose hope had already been lost, and one whose hope remained. Italy came to her, out of the darkness, serious-eyed, quiet-voiced.

"I'm going to talk to Alfred," he said. "He won't say anything, so I'm just going to talk to him until he's a little better, all right? He really blames himself, still. Even all of us working together couldn't fix that. But I'll talk to him. I think you should talk to Toris, if you don't mind. He looks like he is going to fall apart."

"I do not think that I can stop that, Feliciano," she said.

"No," said Italy, "but he loves you, so if anybody can help him, you can." He smiled sadly. "Love goes a long way toward fixing broken people, you know. Not far enough, but a long, long way."

"Not all love," she said, thinking of poor little Latvia and what he had been driven to do.

"Love like yours," Italy replied, and then he was gone. She heard him in the darkness, speaking to America, and so, gathering herself, she stood and made her way to Lithuania, who still cradled Russia's body in his arms.

"Are we, are we supposed to leave him?" Lithuania asked dully. "Will they come and take the body?"

"Perhaps, in time," she said, certain that, when the guards came with their food, they would take what was left of Russia with them. "But for now, we should say goodbye to him, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," said Lithuania, looking up at her. "Yes. We are all that's left, Tasha. We have to be the ones to send him off. He'd hate…to be left waiting here alone."

They both knew Russia was no longer there, but perhaps, thought Belarus, he could see them from wherever he was, and perhaps he would be comforted by the knowledge that they had stayed with him. And so she knelt, clutched Lithuania's hand - which was once again bloodstained - and together they kept vigil for Russia.

"He was so brave," Lithuania said after a time. "You know, I had no idea…I had no idea he was so strong."

_He learned from you,_ she thought, but she did not know how he would take that, and so she said nothing. She remembered Russia as he had once been - a scared but determined child - and knew that he had grown in mental strength because of Lithuania.

"Tasha," said Lithuania, "Tasha, was he in love with me?"

"Why do you need to know?" she asked him. "It does not matter. And Toris, regardless of what he felt…he was happy for you."

"For us?" said Lithuania.

"Yes. He was content to remain near you, to protect you. He may have wanted more, but he did not ask for it. He wanted you to be happy."

"I wish he would have told me," Lithuania said. "A lot of things make sense now, now that I know. Although I'm still not sure…I'm not sure how I feel, knowing that he loved me."

"And that is why he did not tell you," she said. "He wanted you to be happy above all else. He thought you were worth that much."

"He was wrong," said Lithuania, "but nonetheless, that was a very…that was a very adult thing to do."

"It was," she agreed.

And they sat in silence, mourning for Russia, a thousand memories swirling in their minds, until the soldiers came to take away the body. And when they had gone, Lithuania turned to Belarus, smiling his sad smile.

"I think he's at peace," he said. "No matter what lies in store for the rest of us…I'm sure that Ivan, and Raivis, too, are at peace now. They deserve their peace, after everything."

_And what of you?_ she wanted to cry out. _What of the Lithuania who sacrifices everything for those he loves? Is there no peace for you? Why, why can you not believe in good things for yourself? I would rage against this world, and truly, I would destroy it, if it meant you could be at peace. _

She wished, above all else, that Lithuania would believe the words she so desperately wanted to cry out to him. She knew, too, that he no longer had the ability to think of himself as anything but a failure. And more than that, while she knew she could not erase his pain, she knew that she could ease it.

And so she held him close, and in her own way, she tried to mourn for Russia and Latvia, though, somehow, she could not quite feel sad for them. It was awful, yes, that Russia had been killed, still more horrible that Latvia had killed himself…but it seemed like such a mercy for them, to be free of this.

She mourned, and yet she could not mourn.

_If we could join them…if we could be free and happy in death…would it not be better to die? Would it not be merciful?_

"Tasha…" Lithuania whispered, his face buried in her hair. "Tasha, it hurts."

_Would it not be better for Toris' suffering to end before he is completely broken?_

* * *

America was in shock, Italy decided. There was really no other option. The poor boy had been sitting there staring into space for what seemed like hours now, moaning quietly every so often.

"Alfred," Italy tried, not for the first time, "Alfred, are you all right?"

"They're dead." America's voice was flat. "They're dead, Feli. It's all my fault. Everyone's dying. It's just us left, isn't it? We're…we're the last."

"No," he said. "No, Alfred, we are not. Lovi's alive, I can feel him. I know he's still out there, and he's with someone else."

His statement had the desired effect. America blinked, turning his staring eyes on Italy. "What the hell are you saying? How can you feel him?"

"It is what happens when you share your land with another personification," he said simply. "I don't know why it's this way with me and Lovino, but it is. He is South Italy and I'm North Italy and together we are _Italy_. And I can feel him in my heart, and I know he is alive. If he died, I would…"

_I would fall to the ground screaming and I wouldn't be able to stop until he came back to life. It's happened before. It's really…it's really horrible. Knowing he's alive is a comfort, but…if he dies before me, or I die before him, it will…_

"I would also die, probably," he said finally. "I don't know, but…I know he's alive, and he is with some of the others. We're not the last. There are still people alive in this world. There are people who aren't suffering because of Panem."

"They're suffering," America said. "You're lying. There's no way…there's no way Romano isn't suffering right now. You're a liar. I ruined the world, Feliciano. I know what I did. Let me, let me blame myself…"

"Lovi isn't, isn't perfectly happy," Italy said desperately, "but he's not broken! He's anxious, and scared, and sad, but not broken! He's okay!"

America turned his face away. "Nothing's okay. It's never gonna be okay, Feli, it's…it's…"

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't laugh, he couldn't smile, not now. This was not a time for laughter, but for seriousness. And yet even his seriousness could not help anyone. Still, America broke and crumbled away in front of him. Still, as Lithuania and Belarus came to join them and fell asleep next to America, Italy remained awake, alone.

_I never was very good at being serious. When I'm serious, it's like…even such a deep change in my behavior can't bring about any change, even when I know people really well. I guess that's just the way it is, but…I wish I could be more helpful._

He'd been trying for a while now to push the memory of what he had said earlier back out of his mind, because when he had spoken before of death and torture and hope, when he had tried in vain to rouse courage in America, he had acknowledged some varied and terrible truths, truths best left forgotten or denied.

_This world is real. I didn't just…fall asleep and end up here. This is real. It has to be. Dreams…dreams don't continue after you wake, and I've gone to sleep and woken up a thousand times, in this place. Or, at least, it seems like a thousand times. It probably hasn't been long, though. Maybe three, four months, since the explosion? It can't have been any longer. _

He sighed, curling into a ball, pressing against the cell wall, wishing it would give him warmth. The others were sleeping close to each other, like a family, but somehow he felt that he was not a part of that bond, and he did not want to intrude, although he was rather terribly lonely.

_I really wish…I could have kept on denying everything. It was fun while it lasted, to treat this like a dream, even if I knew I was lying to myself. Even if I knew I'd eventually be unable to deny the truth. It was a good thing. I've managed to stay saner, in the long run._

Someone - probably Lithuania or America - was sobbing in their sleep, and Italy waited in the darkness until the sobs subsided, hoping that one of the others had curled themselves around the crying person and helped them back into slumber.

"I miss them," he whispered, rolling onto his back, looking up at the unseen ceiling far above. "I miss my friends. I wonder…if I'll ever see any of them again, if I die here."

His lips were barely moving - he wanted to hear a voice, any voice, even his own, but he did not want to wake the others with his self-comforting words.

"I really hope I will. I really hope…that there's something else beyond this. Even if it _isn't_ a dream, after all, I hope that…that in the end, everyone will be able to laugh and smile together in safety. I hope everyone will be there, then. I miss everyone a lot. It's getting…kind of hard to be brave, here, with everyone else so sad."

He thought of Germany and Japan, lying dead someplace, and he wondered - although he wished he hadn't thought of it - if they'd been buried properly, if there had been anyone there to mourn for them. And for a moment he thought of Romano, but then he focused inward again, on the reassuring feelings in his chest that, he knew, belonged to Romano, and not to him. He had not lied to America. Romano was happy now, sort of, although it was a happiness tinged with wariness and annoyance, and Italy imagined that he was sitting beside a fire in some warm home, close to someone he cared about, and that he was smiling.

"I wonder what you're doing now, Lovino," he said. "I hope, whatever it is, it keeps making you happy. I'll try to keep on being happy, if I can, so my sadness won't affect you. Please be happy. For those of us who can no longer smile, please…be happy."

* * *

**So, um, yeah. For some reason when people die in this fanfic, they usually die in groups of two or three. I'm not sure why that is.**

**Well, things are going to start moving pretty quickly after this, and the story will be finished in around six chapters, maybe less. So, I hope you all have enjoyed this story, and I hope you'll stay tuned until the end! (And also that you won't hate me too much.)**


	60. Losing Faith

Chapter Sixty: Losing Faith

When Panem returned, the others were still asleep, and Italy was sitting alone near the door, trying to sleep and failing. He did not want to be the only one awake, especially not now, when Panem had returned with all her wrath and desperation, and still he could not even pretend to be asleep.

Panem was muttering to herself as she entered, and Italy sat silent, watching her, waiting.

"Come with me," she said at last, turning her wide, wild eyes upon him. "You're the only one awake - you'll do for now."

He hoped she would not kill him, and he was afraid that she would. But still, he rose and followed her wordlessly from the prison cell, sparing only a single glance for the other three nations, still sleeping on the floor.

_If I don't make it back…please…please be safe…_

She had the soldiers tie him to a table, and it all seemed so unreal, it happened so fast. He could not even speak, for he looked into her eyes and found in his own heart a sorrow too deep for words. She looked to be suffering deeply, and he wished that he could ease it. He remembered a time when Germany had held such suffering in his eyes; he remembered trying to help and not quite being able to.

_I wish I could help her. I wish I could save her. _

She began to cut at his arms and face, and he tried to stay still, knowing that a single flinch might mean the loss of an eye.

"Does this make you happy?" he asked quietly, sadly. "Does it make the pain go away?"

Something flashed in her eyes, a sort of agonized rage breaking her pretty face in half. And still she continued to cut at his arms, almost mindlessly, as if even torturing him could not take her mind from what she had lost.

"You're so broken," he said. "It makes me sad."

He'd been afraid of her before. He still was. He was afraid of everything, he knew he was afraid of everything, and yet he had to stand unflinching before his fear now. Continuing to deny what he feared would do no good. He must look it in the face, and in doing so, perhaps, he would conquer it. Perhaps he would be able to survive, in spite of everything.

"You're sad?" Panem asked, turning her broken eyes on him. "You're sad for me_ now_?"

The knife came down on his arm with a terrible, slicing force, and he sobbed out aloud in pain and fear as Panem cut deeper, leaning on the knife, her eyes full of fury.

"Where were you when I was lonely? Where were you when I could still have been saved? Where were you when I lost Raivis? You're not sad for me! You're sad because I'm hurting you! You're sad because you're going to die here! You don't care about me! No one does! No one except Raivis ever did!"

She sounded like a child who had lost everything and was now screaming out at God, at those who had left her, as if she believed that she could not mend her heart, and must instead rage at those who had harmed her.

He wished someone had been able to save her, but it was too late, too late to do anything except lie here under her knife and regret what had happened. He could do nothing but wish for what could never be.

He was beginning to feel faint from pain and loss of blood, and he tried to remember to be strong, tried to keep the memory of Japan and Germany and their strength fresh in his mind. Still, he began to cry softly, feeling the tears run into the cuts on his face, stinging him.

"You're awfully weak," Panem said. "See, that's why you're sad. You're only sad because you don't want to be hurt."

_No…I mean, I suppose it is that way, but…but I don't think that's the only reason I'm sad. It's true I don't want to die here. I'd rather not be hurt. But I have other reasons. I'm sad that the others have died, and are going to die, and I'm sad…that she's been so broken, and that she's lost the only person who could have helped her. But I'm also sad because…because she's right. I'm not 'brave', not like the others. I might be mentally strong, but that doesn't mean I can keep myself from crying out weakly. Being able to stay sane doesn't mean I'm brave. It just means my mind is stronger than some of the others' might be._

But he knew, if he knew nothing else, that these words would be wasted on Panem. She was too far gone to hear his words, too far gone to be helped or changed by them.

He had seen nations' madness before, and he could tell when nations could be rescued from that insanity. But he looked at Panem, and he seemed to see a little ghost girl standing behind her, tugging at her clothes, trying to get her attention.

"Do you…?" He let the words trail off. He was surely imagining the ghost, and even if he was not, it was clear that Panem could not see or touch her. The ghost, he thought, might be Panem's conscience, or, perhaps, her innocent, child self.

If Panem could not see the ghost girl behind her, if Panem would not pay heed even to her own conscience, she was truly beyond saving.

* * *

There was no relief. She looked down at Italy, at the cuts scarring his arms and face, and she felt nothing. The cuts were deep; she knew he would soon pass out from the pain if she did not stop, and it should have been enough for her to know that. This had always been enough to satisfy her, unless she had already decided that someone must die.

But now, now Latvia was gone and nothing could satisfy her. There was no pain and suffering great enough to ease hers. At that moment in time, standing over a bloodied and sobbing boy and feeling no elation, she thought she could have destroyed the entire world and still remained numb.

"Take him back to his cell," she said, and as she said it she dropped the knife, listening to it clatter to the floor. "I don't…I don't want to do this anymore."

She turned and stumbled from the room, but halfway down the corridor she turned back, to see one of her guards following her.

"Find Bailey and tell him to come to me," she said. "Tell him to come _now_."

She did not know what she intended to do with Bailey, but she wanted him with her now.

_He's the closest thing to Raivis…that's left in this world. I have to…I have to make sure…_

She did not know what she wanted, beyond her desire for that which could never be. And as she stood alone in her room, waiting for Bailey to come, she looked down at the little cache of items which she had stored so carefully in one of the cabinets of her room.

The green silk dress. Latvia's notebook. That worn-out red shirt he always insisted on wearing. All the things she'd been able to salvage from his room and from what was left of his body.

There was a tentative knock on her door.

"Come in," she said, and did not turn around as Bailey padded across the room to her side.

"I don't know why I'm here," he said, "but…but I know I remind you of Raivis, and I…I…"

"I will not kill you, Bailey," she said, "although I would like to. If I killed you, I would regret it. You remind me of Raivis, that is true, and to kill you would be to kill all I have left of him."

"So um, um…" Bailey was stuttering. "Do you want me to act like him? I, I don't know what you want, Panem, so…"

"I don't know either," she said, and for a moment she stood silent, looking down at the objects which seemed, to her, to be the wreckage of her dreams. "Bailey, I am going to bury Raivis tonight, and I would like you to come with me. I don't want you to say anything or do anything but I would like you to come."

_Please. Don't let me go alone. Everything hurts and I'm scared of being alone and even Raivis has deserted me. Where can I go from here? You, you stupid cowering soldier, I don't care for you, but everything hurts and I don't want to bury Raivis alone in the dark._

"Okay," Bailey said. "I'll go. But, Panem? I can't protect you from whatever's out there in the dark, you know."

"I am not asking you to," she said.

_What lies in wait for me in the darkness cannot be worse than my own thoughts. Let the darkness consume me. But don't let me go alone. _

* * *

Italy was gone when they woke, and no one knew what had happened to him, although, of course, that did not stop them from speculating.

"Do you think she killed him?" America asked dully.

"We would have heard it, if she'd done it here," said Belarus. "So…so, perhaps…"

"None of you deserve this," Lithuania whispered, though he could barely hear his own voice, and he knew the others would not hear him.

_All around me…everyone is suffering. And…there's nothing I can do. Raivis…is gone. Ivan…is also gone. Feliciano…where's Feliciano? Why does everyone have to suffer?_

"Toris," said Belarus. "Toris, are you all right?"

"I…"

_I can't feel anything…except for this sadness. I can't even, I can't even cry, I just…I need…_

"Tasha, hit me," he said, and she grasped his shoulders with deadly intensity, staring him straight in the eyes.

"No."

"Please," he whispered. "Please. It will…"

"What can it do except hurt you more?" she asked. "I will not be the cause of your insanity, Toris, and if you are trying to drive yourself insane…"

"I'm trying to stop going insane!" he cried. "Tasha, you don't understand, I…I have to…"

"It's not gonna make you feel better, Toris," America said. "It'll just…"

"What do you know about it?" he asked. "You don't understand, any of you, you don't _know_…"

The door creaked open and they all froze, staring. For a moment they could see nothing, but then rough hands pushed a small figure inside, and Italy tumbled to the floor, the door slamming shut again behind him.

"I…I'm back," said Italy, sobbing, and for a moment Lithuania could not see anything wrong with him. And then he saw the blood dripping down Italy's arms; then, Italy raised his head, wide eyes sad and pained in his bloodied, scarred face.

"Please help me," he whispered. "Please…" His voice broke. "Please, I c-can't fix it on my own."

For a moment Lithuania thought he was listening to Latvia or Estonia pleading for his help, and then he remembered that they were gone, that he had failed to save them and that he would never have another chance to save them, and _everything fell apart_.

He had failed everyone, everyone in the whole world. He had failed to save everyone from physical harm, and Estonia from insanity, in Russia's house. And since then, what had he done but fail everyone else? What had he done, but sit by and pity himself as the world burned around him, as a little girl grew up hating everyone and believing that the only option left to her was to kill all those who had failed her?

They acted as if he was someone to be admired and imitated, and he had failed them all.

America was ripping up the ragged remains of his shirt, trying to bind the wounds, big hands shaking, and finally Belarus had to take the bandages from him and push him aside so that she could tend to Italy.

And Lithuania could not move. It felt, it felt as if he was trapped inside his own mind, as if he had been taken away from the outside world and could not reach it, though he wanted to. He could see and hear the others, but it seemed that they were far away, and that he could never reach them even if he tried. He needed to reach them. He needed to help. And he could not, he could not, he was losing his mind.

His head was pounding, and he grasped at his hair, at his ears, at the sides of his head, trying to make the overwhelming, oppressive aching disappear. And it didn't. He could not make it disappear.

He could hear Estonia and Latvia and Russia and all the others, and even some of his own people, crying out to him.

_"You didn't save us."_

He knew that. He'd known that for years, decades now. He'd been aware of that failure since before he'd been freed from Russia, did they have to remind him?

Yes, of course they did.

_It's my fault…my fault they're dead. I-if I had died, instead of them, it would have been better. I would have. I _wanted_ to. Why can't I die? Why do I have to stay like this? I DON'T WANT TO LIVE._

The words that no one heard pounded out in his head, and he could do nothing but collapse in on himself. Perhaps, perhaps if he only broke far enough, his breaking would break those words, too. Perhaps if his mind collapsed in on itself, he would no longer have to hear these words.

"Toris?" said someone far away. "Toris, are you still in there?"

They were all bending over him. He could see them through his hair - America standing worried and terrified, Belarus blank-faced but fearful-eyed, Italy with his face bloodied kneeling on the concrete floor, still sobbing quietly.

Italy could not stop crying and Lithuania could not stop breaking apart inside and suddenly, suddenly he had his arms around Italy and it did not bring him back to sanity, not fully, but at least he knew where he was, now; at least he did not feel as if he was drowning. And suddenly he was crying too.

"How can she do this?" he cried. "It's too much, it's too much!"

_Raivis and Ivan are dead, and still she is not satisfied. How long, how long must we suffer like this? Why can someone not stop it?_

"Don't cry," said Italy, with tears pouring down his cheeks. "Don't cry. You're so good and nice and you did all you could, don't cry…"

_I didn't do enough when it mattered and now I have no strength to keep walking. _

"We're going to be saved soon," said Italy. "I feel it, somehow. I know we're not going to die in this prison cell! We're going to get out, I promise! Don't cry, Toris… There's still hope."

_No, there isn't. There has not been any hope for a thousand years, and I am tired. I'm so tired. Release me. I don't…I don't want…to slowly die by torture. I want…to be killed instantly. I want to die at this very moment. _

He could feel himself hesitating on the brink of insanity, and going mad sounded so inviting, suddenly. If he went mad he would be consumed with anger or laughter or with _something beyond this sadness_. It must be so, he must believe that it was so.

_All that is required…is one last shattering…and then…then…I will be at peace._

But he was Lithuania, Lithuania whose only wish was to be at peace, Lithuania who had been dragged back from the brink of death or madness, from the promise of escape, every time it was held before his eyes.

_The punishment for my sins is eternal torment. And still…and still…please…someone release me from this._

* * *

She buried Raivis in the place where she had had all the nations buried - on a small plot of land enclosed by fences, where none but she and those she permitted could enter.

She had never come here herself before, and the little rows of graves, marked only with the nations' human names, and nothing more, seemed eerie to her in the dark. She was glad that she had brought Bailey with her, although he remained in the background, fidgeting nervously and glancing around as if he thought there might be ghosts, somewhere out there in the darkness.

It took most of the night to dig the grave, and she had no coffin and no minister to say any words, and so for a moment she simply stood there, staring down into an open, as yet unoccupied grave.

"Why am I doing this?" she asked the silent darkness, and she did not know for what reason she asked that question, or what it was that she regretted doing.

She had too many regrets. And yet, and yet…

"I didn't lie to you," she said, turning, kneeling in the grass next to the place where she had laid Latvia's body as she dug the grave. "I won't stop, even now."

It was so wrong to see Latvia lying silent and cold, to touch his hair and smooth it back and not even feel him flinch and shudder away. All of this was wrong.

"This isn't the way it was supposed to end, but I'm not going to let that change anything. I'll see it through to the end. I…I won't give you any satisfaction, you stupid, selfish brat. If you thought you were making things better by, by ruining my plans, think again. You didn't change a thing. I'll see this through, with or without you."

She smoothed his curls back over his forehead, and then for a moment she sat still, hesitating, before she lifted his body from the ground and laid it in its grave. She was glad of the darkness then, for in darkness, with her flashlight dimmed, she could see very little, and so, although she could see when the body was fully covered, she did not have to think too hard about the action of throwing earth over Latvia.

And when it was done, she turned away, knowing that, in the morning, others would come to place a marker over the grave. Perhaps after that, she would return. But for now, she would leave Latvia to whatever he had found in death, though she would not leave the grave unmarked.

As she joined Bailey at the gate, she looked back, and she could see, barely visible in the moonlight, the outline of the rose she had left on Latvia's grave.

"I thought it was supposed to be red for lovers," said Bailey. "Why…?"

"Because white shows up better in the dark," she said, although she did not know why she had chosen white, only that she had wanted red roses and yet, somehow, some part of her insisted upon white.

Bailey followed her from the place, silent, and on the way back Panem held the steering wheel between tight, clenched fingers, wishing that she was clutching at someone's neck instead.

When they finally reached their destination, Bailey followed her to her room without being commanded to, and, wordlessly, she motioned him to a chair. For a time they sat in silence, watching dawn begin to break over the horizon.

"Have you ever been in love, Bailey?" she asked at last, watching the nervousness fill his eyes again.

"Uh…not really," he said. "I mean, I've thought 'I'd kiss her' before, but it wasn't like…like what you felt for Raivis. But I mean…I'd like to think loving my family counts for something, right?"

"I assume you joined my army to help them?" she asked, and he looked down, almost guiltily.

"Yeah. I know it's dumb, but…I thought it would help, even though I just barely managed to pass the physical exam. It's still not enough money to take care of everybody, though."

"How much more would you need to take care of your family?"

"I dunno." Bailey shrugged his thin shoulders. "We've never had enough to know how much we really need."

"If someone offered you enough money to help your family live comfortably, what would you be willing to do for that person?"

"Who knows?" said Bailey quietly. "Nobody's ever asked."

"I'm asking now," she said.

He looked her straight in the eyes, and although he was shaking, his voice was steady.

"You're being impulsive. You really…you really wanted Raivis to fix you, didn't you?"

"What do you mean? What is there to be fixed?"

"You're lonely and scared and you thought he could fix that. You're not, you're not thinking of me as Andrew Bailey. You're thinking of me as the next best thing to Raivis Galante. You think I don't know that? I mean, yeah, I'm stupid, but I'm not that stupid. I know you want a replacement for what you lost, and I know you know that I'm the only person stupid enough to accept a deal like you're proposing. I'm the only one stupid enough to take the gamble on the possibility of you killing me."

"And still you sit here as if you might accept my proposition," she said. "You're a stronger man than I thought."

"No, I'm just stupid. And honestly, if the personification of Switzerland hadn't decided to show me mercy, I'd already be dead now, and you know it. I can't fight worth shit and I don't want to kill anybody. You know your people; you know how I feel. If you didn't know you wouldn't be asking me." He sighed, nervous hands twining together. "What would you do to me?"

"Why would you care? You know I can give you anything you want in exchange."

"Yeah, but you won't. The one thing you can't deny, even now, is that you're selfish. You're beautiful and smart and deadly, but you're also really selfish, and if what I want isn't the same as what you want, you won't give it to me." He licked his lips nervously, glancing up at her. "Aren't you going to hit me for that?"

"No," she said. "You have made no deal yet and I am not angry with you. You're right. I am selfish. But I think I've earned it."

"Yeah, maybe," he said. "Maybe you have. And you, you could just force me to do what you wanted if you felt like it. I might as well accept the deal while you're in a good mood. Maybe you really will help me out."

"Bailey," said Panem, "I may occasionally twist the truth, but I never lie. I will do what I said I would."

"Just don't hit me too hard. I don't exactly have a nation's strength, so I'd rather not be beaten to death, if that's okay."

* * *

Romano had been having nightmares for days now, and at some point during that time, Canada had started sleeping in Romano's bed. He would have been woken eventually no matter what, but Romano seemed to stay calmer if he was there when the nightmares started, and Romano knew it, though he did not like to admit it.

This time, Canada was woken not by screams, but by tremors running through Romano's body. He wasn't even sure the other nation was awake at first, but he whispered Romano's name in the darkness, just to be sure.

"Lovino? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Something's wrong," Romano muttered, his voice tight with anxiety and pain. "Something's happened to Feliciano. He's not dead, he's not badly injured really, but there's something… You don't need to worry about it, Matthew, it's fine."

"It's not, though," said Canada quietly, finding Romano's hand and grasping it under the blankets, pretending not to notice how much Romano was shaking. "It's been getting worse, hasn't it?"

"He's not even pretending anymore," Romano said. "He's…well, he pretends thing aren't real sometimes, you know. It helps, I think. But he's stopped now. I don't…I don't know why, but…I know he's been hurt again, and…a-and…"

Romano went rigid, still clasping Canada's hand, and for a long time, he was silent.

"Feliciano is…he's stronger than he acts or looks," he said. "Kind of like you, except he's stupid about it. You're…you're quiet where he's loud, but…you're both strong in your own way. I'm not…I'm not like that."

"You're stronger than you think," said Canada. "If you weren't, you wouldn't…you wouldn't…"

He didn't know what he was trying to say, really. He knew only that Romano was stronger than he believed himself to be, knew that anyone who lay awake at night trembling and trying not to cry because he could feel his brother hurting, and still kept on trying to live, had to be much stronger than Romano thought he was.

"I wouldn't what?" Romano asked.

"You wouldn't still be trying to move forward," Canada said. "I mean, despite everything…despite the possibility that you'll die when Feliciano does…you've continued trying to live."

"It's not just a possibility," Romano said gruffly. "It's almost certain. Whenever…whenever Feliciano 'died', in the past…I would be so overwhelmed that I couldn't stand it. Feli said it was the same way for him. Regardless of whether I'll actually die when Feliciano does, I'll probably…almost certainly…lose my mind at that very moment, so it would be better if I was there with him when he died. At least then, you'd know why I'd suddenly gone insane."

"Maybe you won't go insane," Canada said.

Romano laughed quietly. "You have too much hope, Matthew." He did not say it as if he was scornful of Canada's hopes, but as if he wished that he, too, could have that much hope. Romano could not know how shattered and broken down Canada's hope was now.

For a while, they lay quietly in the dark. When Romano spoke again, his voice was sad and resigned.

"I've been thinking for a while now, and…I…I want to try and save Feliciano. I mean, we'll…we'll probably die, but…we're going to die either way, aren't we, eventually?"

"So you want to throw your life away rather than fighting for it?" Canada asked.

"What life?" Romano snapped, sitting straight up in bed, flicking the light on, glaring down at Canada. "I mean…look, this is why I didn't want to tell you." He looked down, dark eyes confused and guilty. "I _know_ you and Gilbert have the strength to keep living. And it's not that I _don't_, but…I don't want to die insane or broken or anything. If I'm going to die in the end, I'd like it to be on my own terms, and I'd like it…if I didn't die useless and imprisoned. Is that…is that something that makes sense to you?"

"Of course it makes sense!" His voice was still quiet, too quiet, he knew it was too quiet, and yet he wished it were quieter. He wished he could sink in on himself and never speak again. He wished he did not understand what it was Romano wanted. "You're not the only one who, who's afraid of dying uselessly. I mean, there isn't…there isn't a single thing I've done this whole time that's had anything good come out of it."

* * *

_You're an idiot if you think nothing you've done is worthwhile. You told me…you told me you tried your hardest to save France, and if you didn't manage it that's his fault for dying, not yours. And you, you stayed with me and you didn't leave and that's something…that's something…_

It was something that no one had ever quite managed to do for him before. Even Veneziano had faded in and out of his life at times; even Veneziano had other priorities. And maybe it was just the fact that it was the end of the world, maybe it was because Canada had no other options open to him, but Canada had stayed and comforted him and somehow managed to earn his trust, and that was something that even Romano himself knew was ridiculously difficult to do.

"That's not true," Romano said, "and you know it. And anyway, I'm not even…I'm not even going to go, I just…I…"

"You want to go because you think it's what Feliciano would do in your place," said Prussia's voice from the doorway, "and because you want to be remembered for doing one thing right, or at least for trying. It's not the torture and insanity that scares you, right? You're afraid no one will remember you once you're dead, because you didn't do anything worth remembering."

Prussia, leaning against the doorframe, was grinning, but there was a sort of desperate sadness on his face that didn't quite mesh with his grin.

"See, we're not that different," said Prussia. "I guess you and me are sort of…tired."

He _was _tired - he had been tired for centuries and the exhaustion had seeped into his bones and heart, until even his sharp words could not quite dispel the exhaustion in him. Once, he had come alive a bit when he spoke sharply to people like Prussia, and now it did nothing for him.

"I'm tired too," Canada said, eyes downcast, "but I don't think that's enough reason for us to throw away our lives."

"But what's the point of doing nothing?" Prussia asked. "Isn't that just sacrificing the others for our own worthless lives? For lives that we don't have any right to continue living when everyone else is gone?"

Canada flinched; Prussia's face softened.

"I'm sorry, Matt. That was…that was cruel. You have the right to your life and Lovino has a right to his, and I guess I do too. But it just seems…sort of pointless. We're going to die anyway, right? I mean, I don't know if you can tell, but I started aging before the rest of you. It wasn't quite to a human standard until the world collapsed, but…I was definitely aging and becoming mortal. I don't know why the world collapse affected me the way it affected the rest of you - it _shouldn't have_. I should have become totally mortal when I lost my right to be called a nation, but that didn't happen until the rest of you lost your immortality, and I don't know why."

"So do you really think…" said Canada, lifting his head to stare at Prussia, "…that you deserve to die because of that? Do you really think it's okay to go on a suicide mission to somehow atone for not immediately becoming mortal when you stopped being a nation? Do you think that's _your fault_? Because it's-"

"He knows it's not his fault," Romano said. "We all know none of this is our doing and still, we're blaming ourselves because that's all we know how to do. We know how to be lonely and we know how to hate ourselves. You're the same way, so don't act like you aren't. You have regrets; you're lonely. I may be stupid and thoughtless, but I'm not blind. There are a lot of things you wish you'd done differently."

"But am I supposed to, to throw away my life because of that?" Canada asked. "Am I supposed to want to die because of that? Am I supposed to just accept what I'm already afraid of? Am I supposed to just let Panem kill me without fighting her, because I _know_ she will kill us all eventually?"

"No, but that's the way nations are," Prussia said. "We fight until there's nothing left and when there's nothing left, we give up."

"This isn't about suicide," Romano said, all at once. "Why are we talking like this is about suicide, you idiots? Tell me why! You don't want to be pitied, do you? You don't want to be remembered as people who lost all hope and went to their deaths resignedly, do you? Why can't we think of this as an opportunity to try our best! It's true that we're probably going to die, but why do we have to make it about dying? Why can't it be us trying our best? Maybe it's about punishing yourself, Gilbert, and maybe it's about me not wanting to go insane and die apart from my brother, and maybe, Matthew, it's about you just wanting to pretend you haven't given up hope, but why does that have to be what we talk about? Why can't we at least…why can't we think of ourselves as brave and at least _really try_ to save the others? Why can't we just…why can't we just try? And if we die, we die, and Gilbert, you get what you want. But maybe if we try hard, and if we try to believe we can do it, we'll succeed! Maybe we'll escape for good, with some of the others, and at that point…couldn't we try to live? If we can survive confronting Panem, wouldn't that mean we've paid enough of a price, and we don't have to be punished?"

He turned to Canada, who still sat next to him, dark eyes wide and unfocused. "I'm not asking you to come. I know you don't want to and I don't want you to either, but…you're coming, aren't you? Because like Gilbert said…we're all afraid of being alone."

"We're going to die," Canada whispered. "We're all going to die and it's going to be so horrible…" And for a moment he buried his head in his hands, shaking. But then he raised his head, and a strangely peaceful, resolved expression had settled on his face.

"Still," he said, "at least we'll know we tried."

* * *

**Well then, um, that's that. So, I've actually _calculated_ this time, and I think it should take no more than three or four chapters to finish this story (although they might be long-ish chapters), so we'll see how that goes. We'll also see whether or not I'm killed by school, which will influence whether or not I'm able to write those last chapters. xDDD**


	61. If We Met Up At Midnight

Chapter Sixty-One: If We Met Up At Midnight

He knew, and Belarus and America and Italy knew, that he was going to do something idiotic and intentionally drive himself mad.

"Toris," said Belarus, as they lay awake in the darkness, waiting for Panem or the soldiers to return and torture them, "will you promise me one thing?"

"I can't, Tasha," he said wearily. "My promises are a curse disguised as comfort, for what I say I will do, I never can."

"Then I will beg something of you and perhaps you will listen to my pleas," she said. "Toris…I don't know what you are planning to do, and I know I cannot stop you, but please…don't die."

"I don't plan to," he said. "I just…I…"

_I can't go on like this._

And then Panem came, and he felt the sanity slipping from him so quickly that it was both frightening and exhilarating. He wanted this, he reminded himself; he wanted to go insane so that at least he could feel _something._

"Toris," Panem began, and he stood and went to her and, looking her straight in the eyes, he spoke.

"I want to talk to you, alone. Please."

She was not kind or merciful, and she did not grant his request out of any charitable emotion. He had gambled on one thing: the idea that she would be able to read his face and know that he was doing this intentionally to goad her into hurting him deeply and terribly so there would be no return. He was doing this so that she could hurt him unrestrainedly, and he had known she would see it in his eyes.

"Then you shall speak with me alone, Toris, if that is what you wish. Come now."

"What's he doing?" America asked. "How, how'd he get her to listen to him?"

"She knows," Italy whispered. "She knows he wants her to break him."

The last thing Lithuania heard as he followed Panem from the room was a single, strangled sob from Belarus.

_I'm sorry. Really. I know…I know this isn't what anyone wants and I know it's selfish but I…I need…_

He needed to die, or else he needed to feel something. And they were all going to die soon anyway, so what did it matter what happened to him now?

"What is it you want, Toris?" Panem asked, stopping in the middle of the hallway and turning to face him.

"I want…I…" _What do I want beyond torture and death for myself; what am I beyond those wishes?_

"I want to know why," he said at last. "I, I mean, I know why. I know at the beginning it was for vengeance, but vengeance can't be all of it, can it? That can't possibly…that can't possibly be the only reason for all of this, can it? That can't be the only reason you've done all this?"

He thought again of everyone he had ever loved lying twisted and broken, remembered the desperation of trying again and again to save them, all in vain, and again he thought that they had also deserved to live, that he would have died for them if he could have.

Even now, he would have traded his life for the safety of the few that remained, but he knew that he could not. Even if he offered his entire life and existence to Panem, as a living sacrifice, it would not last. For he, like Latvia, would become too broken to stand it, and he too would crumble and turn to suicide as the only escape. He had done so before, he would do it again, and he could not save those he loved.

And no more, it seemed, could Panem save those she loved from their own broken hearts, for she stood before him angry but broken, alone, with Latvia gone to a place where she could never touch him again.

"W-what did you think you were going to do?" he cried out suddenly. "Did you really think you could do this without consequences? There are consequences for everything, consequences for living and for failing to save others and for taking peoples' lives, and you had to have known that! Why did you do this? Do you think you're so far above other nations that God cannot punish you? You're not invincible, you're not, can't you see? Don't you understand, it's your fault Raivis is dead? How could you, how could you do that to him? You had to have known, you had to…"

_Snap!_

He screamed in spite of himself, feeling his finger break as Panem wrenched it back, her nails digging into his hand.

"Stop right there, Toris," she hissed, "or you'll regret it."

"But I don't understand!" he shouted. "I don't understand how anyone who says they're in love can drive those they love to such things willfully! You, you're different from how Ivan was! Ivan really had no idea, I know that, I know he didn't mean to do that to me…"

"And yet you blame him," said Panem evenly, wrenching another of his fingers back so that he cried out again.

_Snap!_

"You blame him even as you are blaming me now, Toris. You're not as selfless as you'd like to pretend. Your love for everyone is what they all see, certainly, but your grudges linger beneath your skin and in your soul, and you still blame Ivan for what he did to you. You'd do anything to change it, wouldn't you? You'd do anything to make it so that everything had never happened."

"I would never kill to change things!" he shouted. "I would never, I would never…"

"Wasn't it you who ignored Ivan's affection?" she asked. "Wasn't it you who, knowing he might have loved you, kept him at arm's length? Wasn't it you who-?"

"And wasn't it you," he screamed, "who drove my little brother to suicide?!"

_Snap! _

_Snap!_

_Snap! _

He screamed and tried to pull away, but she held his hand fast, twisting the broken fingers together as he whimpered in agony.

"It wasn't my fault!" she shouted at him, even as she let go of his left hand and seized the right one, twisting and wrenching the fingers in all the wrong directions with a maddened energy. "I didn't do that to him! It was your fault, yours and everyone else's! You let him break! I didn't do that! Ivan broke him, Ivan broke him before I was even born, and you _let him do it_! Which of us is to blame?"

He was up against the wall, and she lashed out with a terrible fury and began to beat him, until he could no longer remember where and who he was.

And a thousand memories flashed in his mind - memories of whippings and beatings and being chained by his wrists, memories of his fingers being twisted, broken, cut from his body entirely.

He remembered Russia beating him until he could no longer think and he remembered the feeling of a gun at the side of his head and _he could not bear it any longer_.

"What does it matter?" he cried, his voice something between a sob and a laugh. "What does it matter if I die here? Go ahead and kill me! I don't care! You're right, you're right, it's my fault! Everything that's happened is my fault! So go ahead and kill me!"

And he started laughing in earnest, remembering, remembering, and feeling the memories slip from his grasp even as he tried to clutch at them. Everything was slipping and he wanted to die and still he could not stop laughing.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Panem hissed. "Stop laughing! This isn't… Why the hell are you laughing? Stop it!"

She kicked him harder, and his laughter echoed off the walls.

"Why should I? Nothing…nothing matters anymore, so…it doesn't matter if you kill me! It's all my fault, all my fault everyone's dead! I couldn't save you and I couldn't save anyone else, so go ahead and kill me! Please, please kill me…"

And he just kept laughing, and somehow he was crying, too, tears running down his cheeks, his body shaking madly. And finally Panem reached into her pocket and went to her knees in front of him, green eyes angry and confused.

"Shut up!" she shouted, and a knife flashed out from her pocket and was before his eyes in an instant. "Shut up, shut up! You're right; it is your fault, so shut up! You're totally insane!"

He couldn't stop. He didn't _want_ to stop. He wanted to stay safe in his hysterical madness forever and never let anything hurt him again. He wanted the laughter to drown out all his pain, forever and ever, so that he never had to feel anything again.

The knife went into his eye, and suddenly he was screaming in agony again. All at once half his vision was gone, and with the one eye he had left he could see Panem lifting the knife as if to slash across his eyes again.

"No! No, stop! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I-!"

There was a stab of pain, his head went back against the wall as he screamed one last time, and then all the world was in darkness.

* * *

She remembered - and how could she ever have forgotten? - the feeling of pounding uselessly at an unyielding door, shouting for someone to release her. And here she was again, in that same position, only not only would no one answer her, but she doubted she could even be heard over the noise from the hallway.

"Tasha!" America did not understand, and how could he? He had never been in this position; he had never had a responsibility to protect Lithuania, as she did. "What's going on? Is, is Toris making that noise?"

Lithuania was laughing and his laughter was interspersed with wails of pain, and she had to get to him, she had to. She remembered the sound of bullets ripping through his body, she remembered him dying a thousand times, _if it happened again_…

The laughter died suddenly, agonized screaming replacing it. She wanted silence. She wanted Lithuania safe beside her where she could comfort him, and yet she stood powerless listening to his screams. Panem's mocking voice, closer now than before, rose over Lithuania's sobs.

"You're not so strong now, are you? Now you really are useless."

The door opened, knocking Belarus to the ground, and Panem appeared, dragging Lithuania by the hair.

"I don't think he'll bleed out, but I don't care if he does," she said contemptuously. "He's useless, useless, completely useless!"

She hurled Lithuania to the ground next to Belarus, and, turning, left the cell without another word.

"Toris?" America said quietly. "What h-?"

"Don't look at me," Lithuania sobbed. "Don't look at me, don't speak to me, pretend I'm not here! I'm not here!"

He was on his knees, his hands over his face, and there was blood seeping through his fingers.

"Toris…"

"Don't speak to me, Tasha!"

"But you're, you're…"

"It's not your fault. Let me bleed. Let me die. I…I can't see, I…I can't see anything…"

"Your hands are over your eyes. Of course you can't see."

"Tasha," said Lithuania, raising his head, slowly lowering his bloodstained hands, "that is not the kind of blindness I meant."

"Holy _shit_!" America blurted. Italy put a hand over his mouth, glancing almost warningly at Belarus. There was no need for him to look at her. She could say nothing; she did not know what to say.

"She was supposed to kill me!" Lithuania sobbed. "Why, why does it always end up like this? I c-can't see…"

"Feli," America snapped, forcing Italy's hand from his mouth. "I need some kind of cloth, something to-"

"No!" Lithuania wailed. "No, don't try to fix me, I'm fine! Leave me alone!"

Belarus reached out to him, trying to remember, to remember that Lithuania was Lithuania no matter what he looked like, no matter whether he was whole and smiling or whether there were great knife-marks across his eyes. He could not see her, but the moment she touched him, he pushed her hand away.

"Don't! Go away! I don't want you here, go away!"

"I will not," she said. "Never again will I go away. And you do not mean what you say right now, Toris."

"Shut up!" he moaned. "Shut up, shut up…"

"The words I said to you back then will not work on me and you _know it_," she said. "I will not let you die."

"B-but…I…"

"Toris," she said, "please. Please stay with me."

He tensed when she laid her hand on his shoulder, but he did not pull away, and after a moment she felt him relax beneath her fingers.

"Yes, see, you're all right. You can stay. You can stay with me. No one is going to blame you. No one blames you, no one has ever blamed you, not the way you blame yourself. You don't have to go away. Stay with me. Stay with me, Toris."

America and Italy were kneeling next to them, now, and when Lithuania collapsed in Belarus' arms, America was there to steady her, to keep her from falling backwards onto the ground.

"It's okay," said America, his shaking, childish voice sounding anything but okay. "You're gonna be okay, we're all gonna be okay… Somehow…we'll be okay…you'll be okay, Toris…"

_No,_ thought Belarus, feeling tremors run through Lithuania's body, _no, he will not be, and neither will we. There is no way for us to recover. _

* * *

She spent her time ordering the soldiers around, talking with Bailey, watching the prisoners through the cameras, until, two days later, the elation left over from Lithuania's screams faded and left her empty once again. She supposed she could always torture him again, but it was almost midnight now, and she had been sitting in her room alone for hours, staring out into the night.

Finally, she called for Bailey, and stood waiting for him just inside the door. She did not greet him. He was not worth a greeting, not now, not until she had finished her business with him. A bit of the elation returned to her as she kicked him, as she watched him fall to his knees, gasping.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"My amusement," she told him, running her hand lightly over his hair. "You're just a toy, after all. I can do anything I want to you."

"If I rejected your deal now, would you kill me?"

"Of course, Bailey. Of course I would. You of all people know that I do not take kindly to being abandoned."

"Guess I better put on a good show, then," he said, his smile weak and faltering. "Maybe you won't beat me to death if I scream loud enough."

He did not actually scream, and she did not want him to scream. She only wanted him in pain, and beyond that, she did not care what he did.

"It's because of Raivis," Bailey guessed afterwards, as he sat on the floor, rubbing at his bruised face. She handed him a glass of water.

"What makes you say that?"

"You think he's somewhere - like, in the afterlife or something - watching us. And you want to punish him for dying. Isn't that right? So that's, that's why you didn't care about me screaming. You just wanted him to see me in pain and know it was his fault."

She paused, staring at him. "You are a very strange human being, Andrew Bailey."

Bailey shrugged. "Not really. I'm just better at thinking than I am at anything else. And it's sorta my job now, to think about what you do, right?"

"I suppose it is."

Bailey, having emptied his glass, set it down on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest. "So, uh…can I go now? I'm really tired."

He looked tired, and more than that, he looked abused - which he was; even she could not deny that, watching him limp off to his room. As she closed the door, she heard him whisper to the air "You know I volunteered myself, right? So if she's not totally crazy and you are watching from the grave, it's okay. You don't have to worry. I'm just one human being."

She almost called him back -but then, she thought, what would she do if she called him back? Would she hurt him? Reassure him? Force him to do things she had never even asked of Latvia?

"He is only human," she said to herself, "and as such, he can never replace Raivis."

And suddenly she found herself overwhelmed with longing.

"I want to see him again," she said. "Just one more time, I'd like to see Raivis alive, even if it is…even if it is right before his death."

And she realized then that, perhaps, she could see him, and more than that, she could learn exactly how he had died, and why.

"It could work," she whispered.

_Are you, Are you  
Coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me  
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight, in the hanging tree_

"It could work," she repeated. "He, he practically invited me… Maybe…maybe I could see him again…"

* * *

"Isn't it odd," said Canada, "that they practically let us in?"

"Of course they let us in," Romano snapped. "They have us exactly where they want us now. Getting in was never the issue, but getting out…"

Romano exchanged a glance with Prussia. _Getting out is almost certainly impossible, and we're probably all going to die._

"Oh," said Canada, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible volume. "I…I suppose that makes sense."

"Well, we'll try our best anyway, and maybe it will work out," said Prussia. "Lovino, which floor do you think…?"

"Bottom floor is marked as the basement, but the floor above that is unmarked," said Canada, examining the buttons on the elevator panel. "Let's try that floor."

Romano could feel the tension mounting as they stepped into the elevator. Everything was too quiet, and both he and Prussia had the guns they'd looted from some unfortunate soldier's locker out and ready. Canada fidgeted nervously, but he kept his gun holstered, as if afraid of what he might do if he actually had to use it.

The elevator stopped on the second to last floor, and Romano tensed, expecting the doors to open and reveal waiting soldiers, or worse, Panem. But the corridor outside was empty, and as they stepped into the deserted hallway, it felt as if they had stumbled into an abandoned, decrepit place, and not a fortress of the world's only remaining nation.

"Hello?" Prussia's voice was soft, barely audible even to those around him. "Hey, Feliciano? Anybody?"

For a long time, there was no sound, and Romano started to wonder, despite the fact that he could still sense Italy's presence somewhere, if they might be too late, and the others had already been killed. But then, faintly:

"Prussia? Gilbert? Gilbert, is that you?"

* * *

Belarus and America had fallen into a fitful, broken sleep, and Italy had stayed awake with Lithuania, who sat against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, ruined face a mask of uncaring.

"It wasn't because of me, was it?" Italy asked at last. Lithuania jumped a bit.

"What? No, no, of course it wasn't."

"If I hadn't been hurt, though…would you still have done what you did?"

"Eventually, yes," Lithuania said, his voice quiet and sad. "Feliciano, it's…it's done now. I'm done. So please, don't blame yourself. It would have happened eventually anyway, and…the fact that it happened when it did wasn't your fault."

But of course it was. His torture had been what had pushed Lithuania over the edge, and he could not help but feel guilty. And as they sat alone in the silence, Italy seemed to hear a familiar voice calling his name.

"Hey, Feliciano?"

_I'm dreaming, _he thought, _I am dreaming and in my dream it's Gilbert, not Ludwig and Kiku, who has come to rescue me._

"Feli!" Lithuania was sitting bolt upright, his mouth open in shock and consternation. "Feli, do you hear that?"

"Do you?" Italy asked. "I, I thought it was a dream…"

"Call to him!" Lithuania cried. "Call to him; he can save you!"

And so Italy opened his mouth and began to call Prussia's name. He called out louder and louder, until finally he heard the sound of voices just outside. For a moment, he stopped calling, taking in a deep breath, and as he drew in that breath he heard his brother's voice shouting: "Stand back, I'll do it!"

Then there was a gunshot, and the door slid open as Lithuania turned his face toward it, as America and Belarus leapt to their feet. And Italy remained sitting motionless on the floor, for what felt like an eternity. But then finally, mercifully, he felt Romano's arms around him.

"Lovi?" he whispered. "Lovi, you shouldn't have come, they'll-"

"To hell with it," Romano said fiercely. "To hell with all of it, Feli. Do you know how many nightmares of losing you I've had? It was horrible…and I'm never letting it happen again!"

He opened his eyes and found that Romano's face was exactly level with his own.

"From now on, no matter what happens," said Romano, "we stick together. We live and die together, the two of us, all right? We have to. I won't…I won't be able to stand it if you die and I live, so if we go, we go together, understand?"

"Right," he said. "Right, I get it." And then, and then: "Oh, Lovi, I thought I was dreaming and then I knew I wasn't and I was so scared you were going to die…"

Romano's grip on him tightened, and for a moment he let himself relax in his brother's arms.

"I'm not going to die and leave you behind," said Romano, "and that's a promise."

* * *

When the others came and shook him awake, Bailey quite nearly shouted for them to get away. Hadn't he been woken up enough already tonight? But then, Harlan - the red-haired soldier who was rough and cruel to the prisoners but who acted as a big brother to the younger soldiers - called him by his first name.

"Bailey- No- Andrew, you've gotta tell us what to do. Nobody has any idea what we're supposed to do."

"Why, what's going on?" he asked. And then: "Where's Panem, why can't she tell you what to do? And why are you asking me, I'm-"

"She's killed herself," Harlan said. "She's killed herself and they say she won't wake up for hours and _I still don't fucking understand how she _can_ wake up, _but that's not important. What's important is that the last three of those, those _things_, are here. They, they…"

Clary was one of the only female soldiers, and it was she who explained what Harlan couldn't seem to.

"Our orders were to let them get into the complex, and they have, but now what are we supposed to do? They're freeing the others. Are we supposed to just let that happen? The officers want to know, and you're supposed to be closest to Panem…"

Bailey tried to think of what Panem would do, of what she had done in the past, and he knew, if he knew nothing else, that she would want to be the one responsible for the capture of the last three nations.

"Then tell the officers to let them free the others, let them run, but force them down into the basement, below the prison. Let them run, let them shoot at us if they have guns, but don't let them leave. Panem will wake up soon and when she does…when she does, then we'll know our orders."

He stood up and began pulling on his boots, letting the light illuminate his face, watching Harlan and Clary's eyes go big with shock as they saw the bruises covering his skin.

"The price of being the favorite," he said, and they both looked away and would not meet his eyes again.

"Well, go tell them," he said, after a moment of silence.

"Why aren't you going?" Harlan asked.

"My duty is to Panem, so I'm going to her. You can tell our officers what I said, can't you? They're more likely to believe you than they are me, anyway."

_A soldier does nothing but his duty, and my duty is to Panem. I got myself into this, so now I'll have to see it through. And I'd rather be out of the action anyway. I still don't want to die._

* * *

Canada was the last to enter the cell, and by that time Romano was already kneeling on the floor next to Italy, and Prussia had stopped dead just inside the doorway, red eyes wide and staring.

"Holy shit," said Prussia. "What happened to your face, Toris?"

Lithuania was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up tight to his chest, and there were gashes across his eyes that, Canada was sure, must have completely blinded him.

"I…" Lithuania's voice trembled and quavered pitifully, and it was nothing like the strong voice Canada remembered from past world meetings.

"Panem tortured him, as she tortured all of us," said Belarus's cold, flat voice. "She tortured him as she will torture you if we do not take action. Where do we go, Gilbert?"

Prussia began outlining his plan, and Canada suddenly became aware that America was standing behind Belarus, taking in the scene in complete and utter silence. No one noticed as he stepped around Belarus and Prussia to America's side, and his brother jumped when he touched him.

"Al? Alfred, it's me…"

America turned to look at him, and Canada knew, even before his brother's face cracked into a ragged, anguished expression that Panem had broken him.

"M-Matt? Mattie? You're…you're okay…?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine, Alfred. Panem's never touched me once."

"She said, she said Francis…"

"Francis killed himself," Canada murmured. "I'm not, I'm not sure what she told you, but…that's what happened."

"That's what she told me," America said. "I, I just…Mattie, Mattie, I'm sorry, it's all my fault and I'm so sorry…"

He had never thought that the day would come that America - America with his unbreakable smile and his strength and bravery - would begin to cry uncontrollably while clinging to him. But that was how it was, now, and he was powerless to do anything but hold America close and wait for his sobs to subside.

"Matt?" he heard Prussia say at last, and he looked up to see the others clustered in the doorway, watching. "Are you, are you okay to get going? How's Alfred?"

America straightened, and as he wiped the tears from his eyes, Canada saw a flash of his old strength, if only for an instant.

"I'm ready to leave this place. Where do we go, Gilbert?"

"Well," said Prussia, nodding to the elevator across the hall. "I guess we'll just have to see."

For a moment they all stood silent, staring at the row of elevator buttons. Canada could only guess how the imprisoned nations must feel - how many times must they have looked at this elevator, believing the doors would never be opened to them again?

It was Belarus who finally reached out a hesitant finger to stab at the button for the top floor. And then there was a most horrible noise, and they all leapt back from the elevator, save Lithuania, who reached out blindly and began stabbing buttons, triggering more sharp, blaring sirens. But finally, finally, his finger slipped onto a button - the final one in the long, long row - that did not trigger a siren.

The door slid open, and as it did, Canada's eyes fell upon the label of the button Lithuania had pushed.

_'Basement'._

"Well then," said Prussia softly, "I guess there's nowhere to go but down."

* * *

**...I feel like a lot happened in a very short period of time here, so, um, hopefully it's not too rushed or anything? Also I wrote the last bit of this half asleep and somehow it's still better than anything else in this chapter.**

**Two chapters left, guys. Two more weeks, and your suffering (and the nations') will be at an end, one way or another. Thank you all for sticking with me all this time, and I hope you'll continue to read as this story nears its conclusion!**


	62. Bury the Sunlight

Chapter Sixty-Two: Bury the Sunlight

She woke too quickly and too suddenly, jerking awake to find herself lying in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling, with Bailey hovering over her. And she saw from his expression that something - something beyond her suicide attempt - had gone terribly wrong.

"Bailey. What is it?"

"The, the last three nations are here." He licked his lips nervously. "I, I told everyone to drive them into the basement and keep them there until you woke up."

"How long ago was this?"

"Three hours."

"I see." She paused, collecting her thoughts, and when she had finished, she looked up at Bailey and smiled.

"Tell them to cut all power to the basement for sixty seconds. It will confuse the nations, and during the power outage, we should be able to discern their location and close in."

"Isn't cutting the power a little bit unnecessary?" Bailey ventured.

"Of course it is," she said. "But this, this is the endgame, Bailey. It's got to be enjoyable. I want them confused and in pain, and cutting the power will do that."

She threw the blankets back and swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing up and smoothing her rumpled clothes.

"This will suffice," she said. "This game, I mean. It will be the last. I will not play any more games after this, not personally."

There would be more games. She knew that, somehow; knew that a large part of her existence would be taken up with cruel games. But she also knew that she would not enjoy those games as much as she had enjoyed this one, in the beginning, before everything had gone wrong.

"You didn't manage to see him again, then?" Bailey asked, quietly. "Raivis, I mean?"

She'd waited and waited, suffering through darkness and deaths of a thousand citizens she barely cared about in vain, and yet, had she not known that she could never see him again?

"Of course not," she said. "I knew it wouldn't work. He wasn't my citizen, not really, even when he became human; of course it wouldn't work."

"Oh," said Bailey. "Then…I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You'll be the one to suffer for it."

"So you lied just now. You will keep playing games, just not with the nations."

"I won't play with you, Bailey," she said. "You're a coping mechanism, not a toy."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"What does it matter? You'll go along with it either way." She sighed. "Really, Bailey, I don't know if I'll keep playing games. I'm a fickle and selfish child, so I probably will. But maybe I won't. I'm tired of this game, anyway. I'm ready to end it. So let's go. It is time for the final judgment."

And she strode off, head held high, to end the terrible game which she had dreamed of in her childhood, the nightmare which she had brought to life. And yet, she felt no elation at the prospect of ending it, only a certainty that it must end.

_This is not the intended ending. I was supposed to have leisure to kill them slowly; I was supposed to have Raivis for myself when it was done. And now, now I will not have him, and somehow I no longer care how this ends, so long as it is ended. It's their fault; they wronged me. Let them die for it._

* * *

Belarus still didn't understand why they'd given America a gun. Romano and Prussia still carried theirs, but Canada had given his to America, and she supposed Canada had had no idea what he was doing, but she still didn't think they should have given a gun to the broken boy who obeyed Panem's every order without daring to question it.

"You don't think he would kill us?" she whispered, holding Lithuania's hand and helping him along through the cluttered basement. The lighting was dim, and the basement was a maze of boxes, the contents of which she did not want to know.

"Alfred?" Lithuania asked, uncertainly. "Do you mean Alfred?"

"I…yes." She had forgotten for an instant that he could not see, forgotten that he would not know what was going on. "Matthew gave him a gun, and I…"

"He will not harm us unless Panem tells him to," Lithuania said. "It will be all right as long as we avoid her."

And so they continued on through the basmenet, with Prussia leading, and America, Romano, Italy, and Canada following him in a knot, while Belarus and Lithuania came last, alone. They had fallen behind slightly, for Prussia had set a fast pace, and Lithuania in his blinded state could not keep up with him. Again and again, Lithuania would stop, listening to the others' fading footsteps, and tell Belarus to go on without him. Again and again she refused, and they continued on. And slowly, slowly, they began to catch up, as Lithuania's steps grew bolder and less faltering. After a time, they were only a little way behind the others, and Belarus, seeing Italy bounding animatedly along, smiling and laughing, allowed herself to smile.

_Perhaps we will make it after all._

And, as if her words had cursed and doomed their mad escape attempt, there was a great noise, as if someone had flipped a switch and triggered the apocalypse, and all the lights went out. In the seconds after the world was plunged into darkness, a great many things happened, and Belarus was never quite sure what had brought them about.

There was a crash, as if someone had stumbled in the darkness and run into something, and then there was a flash and a bang, as if someone had fired a gun wildly in the direction of the noise. Then it happened again, and again, and Belarus wondered if they might not have stumbled into hell.

"Stop shooting!" Prussia screamed from somewhere far ahead. "What are you, crazy?"

She could barely make out Lithuania still standing upright, and she leapt forward and tackled him to the ground. There were two more shots, and then, and then, silence.

Twenty seconds later, the lights came back on, and Belarus, still holding onto Lithuania for dear life, lifted her head to see the damage done. She could see America standing with his gun raised, eyes wide and staring, hands shaking. Canada and Romano crouched on the floor near what had once been a pile of boxes, Canada with his arms around Romano, shielding him as she was shielding Lithuania, while Prussia had leapt up from the place where he had sheltered himself and was running back toward the rest of them.

And Italy stood motionless in front of America, blank-eyed, blood spreading across his clothes from the hole in his chest.

* * *

America had whirled round to shoot in the direction of the noise, and Canada could see the horror and denial in his eyes. He could see, too, the blood spreading across Italy's clothes, and he could hear the pain in the red-haired nation's voice.

"That, that was a little unexpected," Italy whispered. "Still, I think it's okay. I can, I can hear them coming, can't you? Can't you hear the soldiers? They'll probably kill us all, so maybe…maybe it's better that I die now. And hey, maybe…maybe I really will wake up…and all this will have been a dream."

Prussia darted forward and caught Italy before he hit the ground, and he stood for a moment holding Italy's body as if he did not know what to do.

"Feliciano…?" Belarus ventured, and all at once Canada felt Romano go rigid and then begin to shake, and as Prussia lowered Italy to the ground, Canada saw his gaze go to Romano.

"Lovino," Prussia said. "Lovino, it's okay…"

Canada turned to Romano, saw him staring straight ahead with vacant, agonized eyes, his mouth open slightly, his breath coming in heavy, painful gasps. And he could do nothing but watch as the sanity slipped from Romano's eyes, could do nothing but try to hold onto him as he covered his ears and began to scream.

"Lovino!" Canada shouted, and then Prussia was pulling him back and up, away from Romano, who writhed on the floor, shrieking.

"Let me go, Gil! I've got to, I've got to…"

"What do you think you can do for him?" Prussia demanded. "Look…look at him, Matt. He's gone insane; he's not coming back."

"So you want to leave him here?" Canada shouted. "You want to leave him here to be killed by Panem while the rest of us run away?"

"No," Prussia said, his tone flat and defeated. "No, I won't do that. It's too late now, anyway. Feliciano was, was right. They're coming. I can hear them, too."

* * *

There was no time to run or fight, and even if he had begun to shoot, what could he have done? Prussia had forgotten how terrifying little Panem was, had repressed the frightening memories, but he could do so no longer. She fired a shot into the air, silencing everyone save Lithuania, who began crying "What happened, what's wrong?" until Belarus put a hand over his mouth, quieting him. And Panem came striding into their midst and stood over Romano, smiling.

"So," said Panem, her gun aimed at Romano's chest as he writhed shrieking on the floor. "Which of you was responsible for this little escapade? Gilbert? Matthew? Lovino?"

She pressed the gun to Romano's head, and in that moment Prussia thrust his way forward, so that he was facing Panem over Romano's body.

"Me. It was me, it was my idea. I wanted to die a hero."

Panem laughed. "A hero? You? Prussia, the nation who lost his immortality slowly and by painful increments, instead of with honor and quickness? You think you could be a hero?"

She pointed the gun at Prussia's chest, and he flinched back, hands raised in surrender.

"I'll kill you," Panem said, smiling, "but it won't be easy, and it won't be honorable. Are you prepared to deal with that?"

"I'll accept it," Prussia said. "In fact, I'll…I'll scream and beg for you. I'm good at that. I know psychopaths and I know you people like that kind of shit. I can cater to your wishes. But first I want you to take that gun and point it at Lovino's head and pull the trigger. Don't make him suffer."

"No!" Canada wailed. "Don't, don't tell her to do that! How could you?"

Prussia turned to him, smiling, though he could hear his own voice shaking.

"Now who's being selfish? You know he asked - he begged - to be killed if Feliciano died before him. He doesn't want to live like this. He can't live like this." He turned back to Panem, squeezed his eyes shut for one long moment, and when he opened them, he tried to smile unwaveringly and proudly.

"Pull the trigger, and I'll scream for you. I know you did what you did to Toris because you like to hear people's screams."

"Please don't," whispered Canada, and Prussia couldn't do anything to comfort him, couldn't do anything at all except stand there and hope Panem would do as he'd asked, that she'd stop Romano from suffering any more.

He couldn't imagine how much pain the kid must be in. He'd never heard anyone scream like that in all his life.

Panem took a more deliberate aim, at Romano's heart instead of his head, and Prussia said "Matt, don't look," and Canada turned his face away, Lithuania cried out again, demanding to know what was happening, and Panem pulled the trigger.

And for a just a moment, Romano's eyes cleared of madness, and he smiled weakly at Prussia, as if he knew, somehow, that it had been Prussia who had convinced Panem to end his misery.

"You really shouldn't…think badly of me, or her either, for this," Prussia said dully, as Canada shoved his way past him to Romano's side, cradling the dying nation in his arms. "I mean, I don't…I don't know but, it was what he wanted, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Romano. "Stupid Matt, what did you mean, fighting him? You knew…y-you…"

"I don't care what I know or what I don't," said Canada, as Romano's breathing grew fainter and ceased entirely. "I just…dammit, dammit, I _just wanted to save you, couldn't you have let me save you_?"

"I'm sorry," said Prussia. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

_Sorry for leading you here, sorry for letting Feliciano and Lovino die, sorry for living when they're dead, when Ludwig's dead, when everyone else is dead. I'm sorry. Not that it's worth anything now._

"Well, Panem, are you going to kill me or not?"

* * *

America could feel himself shaking, and yet, and yet, he couldn't move a muscle. He didn't think he could have moved voluntarily if he'd tried. It was too much, too much guilt and pain and horror right in front of him, all things he couldn't stop and could never set right.

_I killed Feli. I panicked and I shot him and he died, and then so did Lovino. It's my fault. I pulled that trigger myself and I killed them. I…I killed them…so I'm responsible…for yet another set of deaths. Why, why am I still alive now? I don't want to be alive, so why…?_

"Alfred," said Panem, her voice almost casual, "why don't you put that gun you're holding to good use."

"No!" Lithuania shouted. "No, don't! I don't, I don't understand what's going on, but don't make him kill Gilbert!"

"Relax, Toris," said Prussia. "We all know Alfred wouldn't do that."

_If I don't, she'll kill him anyway and then someone else. Who's even left now besides me and Gilbert?_

It was only Canada, Belarus, and Lithuania, and he could not imagine harming any of them, even at the cost of his own life.

"I'll do it," he said dully. "I'll, I'll do it, how do you want me to do it?"

"What?" Prussia snapped. "Look, Panem, I told you to…"

"I choose the conditions of your death," said Panem coldly, "and I say that Alfred will shoot you. Alfred, don't make it quick. Surely you've learned by now that it's more interesting for me if it's slow and painful."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'll do it."

He leveled the gun at Prussia, trying not to look the other nation in the eye, and failing. He'd expected judgment there, and anger and rage, but what he saw was Prussia looking at him with confusion and sorrow.

"What'd she do to you, kid?" Prussia asked, quietly.

"She did nothing to him," Belarus said, "and it broke him."

"Oh," said Prussia. "Well, I guess that makes sense. Go on, Al. Nobody blames you. You're just a kid, you couldn't have known…couldn't have known how things would end up."

_I should have known, but I didn't notice. This whole thing…is my fault. This whole world ending…that's something I can never erase my responsibility for. I am the reason for the apocalypse._

"Alfred," Canada said, and America knew without looking that his brother was crying. "Alfred, how can you…how can you stand there with that dull look on your face like you're about to kill Gilbert? You, you wouldn't…"

"Mattie," said Prussia, in a voice that reminded America of England, somehow, "you can't know what he's been through, so don't judge him too harshly. Alfred's been through hell itself."

_I brought about hell's reign and now I must further its cause._

Belarus grabbed Canada's wrist, pulling him back, far, far out of the line of fire, and Canada went, his dark eyes desolate and confused.

And America stood for a moment, waiting, while Prussia faced him unwavering.

He didn't know how many bullets the gun had left, but he was certain Panem would want him to use all of them.

Prussia didn't fall until the third shot, and somehow after that it was harder to shoot. He seemed so defenseless, for although he was grinning raggedly, his breath came in pained gasps, and he remained half-upright on the ground, immobile, as if waiting for something.

"What're you waiting for, Al?" said Prussia, and America did not know how to answer.

_I never, never thought…that the day would come when I'd torture and kill defenseless people. I never…I would never… I was going to be a hero and now…_

"Oh," said Prussia suddenly, almost as if he had read America's thoughts. "That's what it is. Go on, Al. It's all right. It can't be helped. You're no less a hero for doing what's necessary."

He could not be less a hero than he already was, and yet it seemed to him, as he saw Belarus refusing to look at him, Lithuania staring blindly at nothing, and Canada glaring with confusion and desperation, he felt as if he had lost the last shreds of heroism he had held within his soul.

But still he hesitated, and still Prussia kept on talking, though his voice grew weaker and more agonized with every word.

"Look, you don't have to feel any guilt about killing me. I don't know what you've been through, but this definitely isn't your fault. And I, I came here to die. I'd rather die before you or any of, of those people standing over there. Even Toris. And pretty much everyone I care about - other than your brother - are already dead, so it's not like I've got much to live for. I'd rather die. I'm tired. I…I guess you know the feeling now, don't you? You've grown up."

He hadn't grown up, not at all. He was still a child, weak and broken, and it was the terrified child within him that followed Panem's command to keep on shooting.

* * *

Belarus could not bring herself to watch America take another life, nor could she bring herself to tell Lithuania what was happening, though he begged and pleaded for someone to explain exactly what was transpiring. He must have sensed something, though, at the moment when Prussia died, because he let out a low, agonized sob, and then was quiet again.

Canada stood stock-still, staring wide-eyed at America, who, having used all the ammunition he carried, let the gun he held fall useless to the floor. And America, too, was vacant-eyed and sad, and he could make eye contact with no one.

"Okay," he said, his voice shaking. "Okay, I did it."

"Good boy," said Panem. "Now…what's to be done with you and your friends?"

"Kill me," America begged, not looking up from the ground. "Kill me so I can never hurt anyone again."

"Oh, I will," said Panem. "But not yet. You remember what I told you, Alfred, about you being the one who would witness everyone's suffering? That's still true, and you will still die last." She paused, as if contemplating. "But before that happens, there are things to be done." She turned to one of her soldiers, a tall, red-haired boy who had often tormented the prisoners in the past. "Take those three back to their cell."

"What about the other one?" asked the red-haired soldier.

"He comes with me," said Panem, and Belarus realized suddenly that this meant that Canada would not be coming with them, that he had been consigned to a different fate than theirs, and apparently, America realized that too.

"No!" America shouted. "Please, Panem, please…whatever you're gonna do to him, don't do it!"

"You kill my friends and then you say that?" Canada asked. He did not seem angry or judgmental, merely terribly broken and sad, and Belarus wanted to hold him close and protect him, for all at once, he seemed small and fragile and terribly alone. "Alfred, I'm not…I'm not angry with you, but don't you dare bargain for me. I don't want to live in a world where my brother is a murderer and all my friends are dead."

"He is not a murderer!" Lithuania cried, turning his head as if trying to sense Canada's location. "He was forced, you saw…"

"Toris," America said, "I'm a murderer. Canada's right. I murdered people, so I'm a murderer. That's just the way it is. He doesn't mean murderer the way you think, so don't…"

_Don't give him the details. It will only hurt him._

"Toris," said Belarus, gripping his arm, "let it be."

"But…"

"It cannot comfort them now," she said, and Lithuania fell silent, grasping her hand with weakening strength as Panem led Canada away, leaving the red-haired soldier boy to escort them back to their cell.

_None can comfort nor save us. We are truly lost._

* * *

Lithuania had to piece together what had happened from what he had heard, for even Belarus would not explain it to him. And yet, and yet, they were back in their cell now, and perhaps now she would talk to him.

"We failed," he said, hesitantly, "and Gilbert, Feliciano, and Lovino…they all died?"

"Yes," Belarus said quietly, "and Matthew was taken away."

"It's my fault," America said, sounding almost robotic as he repeated the words for what seemed like the thousandth time. "All of it's my fault. I'm sorry…"

"We knew it wouldn't work," Belarus said. "There's no escape."

"None at all," Lithuania murmured, "and there never has been. Even _then_, Tasha, when we fought so desperately for an escape that seemed just within our grasp…that escape was something we could never have brought about."

"We could have," she said. "In the beginning, we could have."

"And I sacrificed that chance for Ivan's sake. And what did it gain? Nothing. It gained us nothing."

"It gained his salvation," said Belarus firmly. "Toris, I do not claim to understand your feelings, nor Ivan's, but you saved him when you went back for him. And so we went back to save you, just as you did for him. What you did was a good thing, a noble thing. You did your best."

Her voice changed, as if she had turned away from him.

"And Alfred, you are not so very different. You, like Toris, had good intentions. However, unlike Toris, you did not manage to save anyone with your actions. Failure to save others in the end is not something either of you should fault yourselves for. Remember that you tried, and know that many of us - like me, and Eduard, and especially Panem - could not have found it in our hearts to be as generous as you."

"But I, I…" America's voice was tear-choked. "Natalya, I let this happen to Panem, so how can you say…"

"It is because you took her in that you can be praised," said Lithuania. "What you did afterwards was wrong; no one will argue with you there. But you, of your own free will, took in a child who had no one to love her, though you yourself did not know how to raise her. That was a good thing, a kind thing. What happened next…was another thing entirely."

"But what happened next caused all of this," America sobbed. "I know you understand, Toris, I just…"

America was leaning against him, suddenly, sobbing into his shoulder, and he reached out unseeingly and pulled the boy close, listening as America's sobs grew more violent instead of dying away.

"Toris, Toris, it's all too late and it hurts so much…"

"I know," he said. "I know, Alfred. Don't worry. It will be over soon."

* * *

**So um yes that was...that was bad. I'm not going to bother to apologize because you all know I really have no remorse.**

**Next week is the final chapter. I...have no idea how to feel about that, but that's what's going down. **

**(I lied I actually have so many regrets about this story in general please forgive me.)**


	63. Forever

Chapter Sixty-Three: Forever

It must have been days later that Panem came again to their cell to take them away. She came alone, at a time that Belarus judged to have been early morning, and she came grave-faced and determined, every part of her bristling with some sort of strange resolve.

She led them to the glass room, wordlessly, and none of them dared to speak a word, for they feared her wrath as much as they longed for it. Poor Lithuania grasped Belarus and America's hands, walking between them, and though he could not see, he turned his head from side to side, as if searching desperately for something.

"Panem," said Belarus, as the girl turned to leave them in the glass room, "what is this?"

And Panem turned back and smiled at her.

"This, my dear Natalya, is the endgame."

Once, Belarus would have felt something, hearing that, but now she felt nothing. There was no elation, no pain, no fear, no sadness, and, most of all, no hope. Everything had been stripped away. Even what she felt for Lithuania seemed meaningless now, at the end.

On the other side of the wall, the lights went on. Canada sat motionless on the other side of the wall, bound to a chair, his eyes fixed on Panem, who stood in the doorway.

"Mattie," America choked, and Belarus noticed the bruises on Canada's face at that very instant.

_Of course she's been torturing him. What else could she have been doing these past days?_

"Are you going to kill me?" Canada asked, quietly. "What about the others? What did you do to them?"

"Why do you care what I did to them?" Panem asked.

"They're my friends and my family. I hoped…I hoped if I died, it would be with them. I don't want to die alone."

"But are you willing to accept death alone?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Mattie!" America shouted. "Mattie, we're right here, why don't you see us?"

"He cannot see or hear us, Alfred," said Belarus. "She has made it so that he cannot. It is as it was with Toris, the first time we entered this room."

"Is she going to kill him?" Lithuania murmured. "Please, Tasha, you have to tell me…"

"I will tell you," she said, "but at this moment I cannot, for I do not know her plan."

"Panem," said Canada, "please, if you're going to kill me, I…"

"You're in no position to make any demands," said Panem, and Canada fell silent. Panem, too, said nothing for a time, but when she spoke again, she stepped forward, close to Canada.

"What if I told you that your friends are to die this very day, and that you will not be allowed to see them before they die? Would you still cling to your life?"

"I'm not clinging to my life," said Canada. "I just don't want to die." He paused, and Belarus could see pain and fear in his wide, blue-violet eyes.

"But…if everyone I love is gone, and I exist only to be tortured by you…I would prefer to die."

"No!" America screamed. "No, no, don't! Matt, stop!"

And Panem began to smile.

"I have here a drug that will kill you within five minutes," she said, "but I won't inject you with it. You'll have to do it yourself."

"Oh God," Lithuania said. "Oh God, no. Not him. Please God, do not let him do it, he is _just a child…_"

Belarus could see the shock in Canada's eyes, and beyond the shock there was a deep, desperate sadness that she did not quite understand.

"So you're asking me," he said at last, "to choose between being tortured for the rest of my life, alone, or taking my own life with the view of, of possibly going to heaven and being with my family."

"Exactly," said Panem. She untied him, then, and pressed a syringe into his hands. "You have five minutes. If you haven't injected yourself by then, I'll assume you're not going to."

She turned and left the room, and Canada sat alone, staring at the syringe in his hand as if it were the most horrid thing he had ever seen. America screamed himself hoarse, crying out again and again in vain, while Lithuania stood pale and silent, clasping Belarus's hand. And she wished more than anything that Canada could hear them.

She heard a terrible, weak sobbing that was not America's or Lithuania's, and she looked and saw that Canada was kneeling on the floor, crying, his sobs shaking his body.

"I…I d-don't want to die like this," Canada sobbed. "Not like this. N-not by suicide, I don't…I d-don't want to…"

"Then don't die!" America shrieked. "Mattie, _listen_!"

"He cannot hear you," said Belarus, although she knew he already knew that. "You cannot help him, Alfred, you can't…"

"I know that!" Alfred wailed. "I know I can't save him and I know he'll do it, too, because yeah, he doesn't want to, but…"

"What other choice do I have?" Canada sobbed. "If everyone else is gone why should I keep trying to live? I'm just going to, to die eventually anyway!"

America was pounding his fists against the wall, shouting, and Lithuania bowed his head, wincing away as if he knew instinctively what was coming. And Belarus turned her face away as Canada stabbed the needle into his arm, and as she looked back toward him, he hurled the syringe from him as if it were a horrible and poisonous thing.

"There," he said. "There, now I can die, and it won't be, be painful or anything. Except I…I promised…"

Belarus was looking at him again, and she saw his eyes go wide with a sudden revelation. Then he buried his head in his hands, clutching at his hair, sobbing.

"I promised Francis I'd live!" Canada sobbed. "I promised, a-and…"

_This place was built on broken promises, and you are no worse a person for failing to keep your promise. All humans will die eventually. We, who were once immortals but are not longer, will die as humans do. We have done our part and now our time is ended. Go in peace._

Her unspoken words could not reach him, nor could America's shouts, nor Lithuania's prayers. And so they listened, crying themselves, as Canada's cries gradually grew quieter, as the poison in his blood took effect, weakening him gradually.

"Maybe it's all right," whispered Canada. "Maybe it's best…that all of us die. Or maybe not. I don't know. But since I, I didn't manage to do what I was supposed to…I guess it's…best for me to die."

His lips kept moving after that, but Belarus could no longer hear him. And when he finally stopped breathing, all the world was silent. Even America had been stunned into silence, staring blankly ahead, tears running perhaps subconsciously down his cheeks.

"And so comes the end," said Lithuania, as the door slid open, and Panem motioned for them to follow her. And Belarus wished to go, and yet, to stay, for Canada looked so lonely, lying motionless and broken on the other side of the wall.

But they must leave him, and go to their own deaths, and perhaps after that they would find him again.

_Go in peace._

* * *

Lithuania could not tell where Panem was taking them, although he knew they were climbing stairs, that they had been climbing for a long, long time now. He kept stumbling, and Belarus had to hold his hand and help him the whole way.

And still America cried, and somewhere far below them they had left Canada dead and alone. Lithuania had been helpless to save him, as he'd been helpless all the times before.

_And I am helpless now, and Panem is going to kill Tasha and Alfred and then she will kill me. Or perhaps, perhaps I'll be second. She said Alfred would be last._

For a moment, he was glad of his blindness, because he could not imagine anything so horrible as watching Belarus be killed, and he knew that if he could still see, Panem would have made him watch. It would be awful enough to hear Belarus suffering.

He could hear Belarus's footsteps, measured and resolute, and yet her hand was cold and shivering in his, as if she were afraid.

"Courage, Tasha," he whispered. "It will be all right."

_Let her reach heaven when the time comes, please. Let her reach heaven, even if I cannot._

Somewhere ahead of them, he heard a door open, and a moment later he felt cool air on his face, and knew that they were standing at the threshold of a door to the outside world.

"We're on the roof, Toris," said Belarus, as she helped him up the last few steps, through the door, to the top, out into the wind. "We're on the roof of the headquarters, and- Toris-!"

He pulled his hand from hers and stumbled blindly further out onto the roof, searching for the edge, and somehow he knew he was close, close enough that one blind step might send him falling. And as he contemplated that step, Panem's voice stopped him.

"You're free to go, if you'd like, Toris, but there's nowhere to go but down."

So he truly was standing at the edge. And for a moment he stood there, head uplifted, feeling the wind on his face, hesitant. And he felt Panem standing close behind him, her voice, when she spoke, soft and filled with promises.

"I can ask Alfred or Natalya to push you. But if I do that, won't it feel like the ultimate betrayal?"

He thought of Poland, who had, in his own selfish way, cared about him despite the betrayal that had twisted their feelings for one another; of Russia, who had been childish and cruel without even realizing it.

"I've been betrayed a thousand times. What's once more to me?" He turned to the place where he thought America and Belarus might be standing, and, smiling: "I know this has been…this has been worse than anything the two of you could have imagined, even in your darkest dreams. And I know it's changed you. Perhaps it's even broken you. But I'm not…I'm not going to allow you to break yourselves for my sake. I may not be able to save you, or myself. But I can protect you from bearing the guilt of my death."

"Toris! Toris, what are you doing, that's the _edge of the building_!" She didn't understand, of course she didn't. Belarus was stronger than him, had always been so, and so had never entertained these thoughts. Belarus had never found herself standing at the edge of suicide, and neither had America. Standing at the edge was different than the fleeting thought, and at this moment his thoughts had become reality.

"I always wanted to die for someone else's sake," he whispered. "In the beginning, that was the idea. To sacrifice myself, for someone else."

He had sacrificed himself in vain, and this would be sacrifice in vain, but at least they would know they had not been the ones to push him from the edge. And at least he would know that they did not bear that guilt.

He smiled once more, and then, he breathed in the last breath he would ever take, and took the step.

And for just a moment he thought of everyone who had begged him to live, even when it had been most painful, even when he had wanted to act selfishly and end his life.

_So in the end, I did…end my life with my own hands. But it also wasn't…the selfish action I'd planned it to be. It's not right. None of it…is right. But at least, at least…_

_Nothing hurts anymore._

* * *

She screamed for him when he jumped, although she had known what he would do long before he did it. Of course he would kill himself rather than making one of them do it, of course, of course he would be so selfless.

"You're so stupid," she said, although she knew Lithuania could not hear her now. "You've always been stupid like that. Did you really think that wouldn't hurt anyone? You're so _stupid_. Why do you always have to choose the lesser of two evils? Why can't you…?"

"You can't say 'why don't you choose the thing you really want'," said Panem. "Not now. You can't say that wasn't the death he would have chosen. He's always wanted to die like that. On his own terms, by his own hand, but in a way that made it unselfish. That's the perfect death for him."

"You never hated Toris, did you?" said America, in a voice so tear-choked that Belarus could not help but grab his hand and hold it, trying to comfort him. "If, if you'd hated him, you wouldn't…"

"Of course I didn't hate him. I resented him - I still resent him. But I believed Raivis when he said that Toris tried his best in the beginning, and when he said it wasn't Toris's fault he couldn't help anyone anymore. Some people are just broken by their circumstances. I think I of all people should understand Toris' position, at least when it comes to that. So, no, I didn't hate him. And yes, that's why I gave him the death I did. There wasn't any way I _could_ have done more to him."

There had been a sort of wistful sadness in her voice as she spoke, as if she was thinking about all that might have been, that never could be now. But then, she shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was sharp and clear once more.

"And what about you, Natalya? How do you want to die?"

"Why would you offer me a choice?" she countered. "You don't care one way or the other about me. You used me to hurt Alfred because you knew he would care more about my pain than about the more masculine nations. That's all it was, wasn't it?"

"More or less," said Panem. "I don't like you, but I don't really hate you. So I'll let you choose, but not because I don't want to hurt you. I know you, Natalya, and I know that, even with Toris's forgiveness, you hate yourself for being so blind before, for hurting him and for letting him be hurt. And I know you'll choose a death worthy of that."

She used to keep a knife with her at all times, and she would take it out and play with it, imagining what it must feel like to cut through human flesh, with no real malicious intent, but simply a dark fascination with violence. She had always been fascinated by death and pain and suffering, though she had not tried consciously to inflict it on the world, as Panem had. And she _would_ choose a death worthy of that fascination, and worthy of the crimes she had committed, against Lithuania by leaving him when she had, and against Estonia and Latvia, who she had been too blind to speak for before they had been traumatized by her brother.

"Then I'd choose for you to take the pipe you're carrying - the one you brought because you guessed, and rightly so, that I would choose this death - and beat me with it until my bones are pulverized and I am dead. That…would make you happy, wouldn't it? Because you, like me, are fascinated with the sight of blood. You, like me, are lonely and in pain. You, like me, did all the wrong things for the person you 'loved most of all'. We are not so different, are we, Panem?"

"No," said Panem. "I suppose not."

_In another world we might have been friends, but in this world we are and always will be enemies. How sad it is. How sad this world's existence is._

And suddenly she remembered that America was still standing there, silent and alone, and she turned and looked straight into his eyes, and spoke to him.

"I don't quite know…whether you acted as you did through heroic duty or through some kind of deeper feelings for me. But if you had any feelings for me...you were very noble about it. You've been as noble as you possibly could have been through all of this. And I'm sorry that I haven't been more help to you."

_In all the novels read by children, the hero is saved by the woman he loves. And he may not love me at all; I may only be fearful of that possibility and so I imagined his feelings. But he is just a child and perhaps, perhaps I could have been more help to him._

"It's, it's fine, Tasha. I, I…"

He pulled her close, and she let him hold her for a long moment, before he released her, and she was forced to turn away.

"Whatever happens," she said, "I know, and you know, and all nations know, that you did your best. So please…believe in what you know to be true."

And then she closed her eyes, standing tall, head uplifted toward the sky above, and when the blows rained down upon her, she found that, though she cried out in pain, this final ordeal was not so torturous as she had expected.

_There is no agony in death for those who have already atoned in life._

She wondered where the thought had come from, and more than that, she wondered if there was enough hope left within her for her to believe that it was true.

* * *

He watched Panem torture Belarus, knowing that his interference would only prolong her suffering - or maybe, maybe he was just a coward who didn't want to be hurt, and that was why he didn't interfere.

And all he could think, as he watched her die, helpless, begging silently for Panem to stop hurting the one person he had left to love, was that at least, at least Lithuania had died first.

_Having to watch this - or even just hear her screams - would have killed him._

And yet, Lithuania would not have stood by and watched, as he had. America could imagine the brunet boy throwing himself between Belarus and Panem, shielding Belarus, letting himself be murdered in her place.

Belarus cried out as if in pain, and she looked as if she must be in pain, but her eyes were calm and clear, until the moment that she collapsed lifeless to the ground.

And then Panem turned to him, her clothes and hands stained with Belarus's blood, and he could not help but cry, then.

"W-will you finally kill me now?" he sobbed, staring at her with tears running down his cheeks as he watched the smile fade from her eyes.

"Yes," she said. "I will."

She pulled her gun from its holster and aimed it at his head, and he could only stare at her, disbelieving.

"You said you'd torture me," he said. "There's no way, no way you'd just shoot me. That'd be too easy."

"That's true," she said, "and the Panem who existed less than two weeks ago thought the same as you."

And suddenly he realized she was crying, that maybe she had already been crying for a long time, and he had not noticed, because it seemed so wrong for her to be crying in complete and utter silence.

"Why…why are you crying?"

"It's not because of you," she said. "I _hate you_. I, I want you to go to hell and be tortured forever."

And her voice began to shake, and she turned her head away from him, as if trying to disguise her tears.

"B-but, after I kill you…I'll be alone _forever._ And I don't care about _you_ being gone. I want you gone. But it's not fair, it's not fair that I have to be alone. I was supposed to have five years with Raivis. And now, thanks to his stupidity, I have nothing. Game over."

She looked up at him again, and as she continued to speak, her voice was clear.

"And it's game over for you too. I'm going to shoot you. If I don't do it right now, I might change my mind. I might decide that I'd rather keep you for the rest of your life than be alone. And I can't let myself do that. I won't give into that weakness."

She smiled.

"I invented this game in order to get my revenge on you. You're the one person…who really had to die for me to win the game. So there's no way I'd ever let you live."

She took her aim once more, eyes narrowed with resolve, and America looked straight into those empty, broken eyes, and said his last words, in a voice that was broken but not desperate, saddened, but not pleading.

"I'm sorry, Perri."

* * *

It was the first time she had felt as if he'd truly meant those words. She did not trust him, she could never have trusted him, but she had heard total honesty in those words. He had spoken them unprompted by her command or by her torture of those he loved, and he had meant the words he'd said.

She would not let it stop her. Her eyes had gone wide as he uttered the words, and she forced them back into determined slits, and, unflinching, staring straight into the eyes of the boy who, she still believed, was the cause of her insanity, she pulled the trigger.

America, the last living former nation, fell dead on the roof of Panem's headquarters, ending the first of many brutal games that would be played in that cruel nation.

And Perri Jones, personification of Panem, was left standing alone on the roof, staring at the sky, with a thousand regrets and no triumph in her maddened soul.

"W-well…it looks like I win."

* * *

**On October 1st, 2014, a certain girl sat down at her computer and began to express her deepest thoughts in the only way available to her at that time - through writing and publishing fanfiction. That girl was me (as I'm sure you've guessed), and the piece of fanfiction she published that day was the first chapter of _Interference_. So began the _Soviet Insanity/Written in Blood_ series. And now, exactly two years later, it comes to an end. It's been a long journey, for me, for the characters, and, I guess, for the people who've read it. And now it's over. I've judged the passage of time by the progression of these stories, in a lot of ways. I still remember the first reviews and messages some of you sent me, the first of many, many more to come. I met my best friend through writing _Written in Blood_, and many other friends, past and present, from the reviews they left on my stories. **

**I've changed a lot since I posted _Interference_. I don't think that's a bad thing. I think I've grown a lot, and I've come to understand a lot more about myself and my own fears and weaknesses through writing this series. And, maybe more importantly, I've started to move toward a brighter place, as opposed to the darkness I was in when I started. That's something I have to thank a lot of you for. I wouldn't be here today without the friends I made through these stories. That's one thing I'm very sure of. When I started _Interference_, I was convinced I wouldn't live to graduate high school. Now I'm less than two years away from that, and I have plans to go on to college and eventually become a librarian, and, possibly, to publish a novel one day. I'm moving forward, and that's something I never thought I'd be able to do when I started writing these stories. **

**Despite all the good experiences I've had here, and the friends I've made, at this point, I have no plans to continue writing weekly fanfiction. I'm planning to take a break, at least for a while, to focus on my original stories. However, I'll try to stay involved in the community all the same, and maybe at some point I'll decide to start another serial fanfiction. It's definitely not something I'll rule out completely. **

**As far as the _SI/WiB _series itself goes, I know it's terribly dark and definitely not uplifting. Which, considering that my original stories focus more on recovery (in the END, don't look at me like that, Firebird), is sort of sad even to me. I think it might have been nice for there to be a happier ending than this. Hinotorihime/Firebird has a reincarnation AU fic based post-_Written in Blood_, so give her Tumblr a search for that if you'd like, or make your own slightly-less-horrible ending or whatever you like. I'd be interested to see what you come up with. Also, as far as_ WiB_ canon goes, any nations not directly mentioned in the story are most likely dead. As for the micronations, I'm not really sure if they're dead or alive, so think as you will on that. **

**On the subject of Panem herself, it's doubtful that she ever completely moved on from the events of her childhood and of this story, although post-Hunger Games, I think she may recover some of her sanity. It's likely that Andrew Bailey remained in her service until his death, by which point she may have dealt with some of her feelings over the unexpected ending to her 'game'. But who knows? Maybe I'm totally wrong. Perhaps she'll tell me eventually. Until then, the above (and Firebird's reincarnation AU), are my closest guesses as to what may have become of the personification of Panem. **

**And, finally, again, thank you. Thank you all, whether you've been reading from the start, whether you joined in the middle of _Soviet Insanity_, whether this was the first fic of mine you ever read. Thank you for all your reviews and messages and follows and favorites. I've treasured all of them. It's been a long, hard, beautiful, sad, and most of all wonderful two years. Thank you. **


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